Skip to main content

Full text of "Cyclopaedia of American literature; embracing personal and critical notices of authors, and selections from their writings. From the earliest period to the present day; with portraits, autographs, and other illustrations"

See other formats





■ ■'■■■-■ ' 

C&e Lioratp 

Of tt)t 

Onttiersitp of Jl3ortf) Carolina 

CnOotorti by 'flCfje dialectic 


^Uantfjcoptc feocietfesf 





1 - r,, XECT10N 

Tki« lo»k mu.'! j-.-. be uken 
from the 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2012 with funding from 

University of North Carolina at Chapel Hil 

<J ■ * &t* t^-i, a/r-e. Ca~iff^~e.y 










VOL. -II. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, 


In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of Hew York. 



53 Vesey Street, N. Y 

r, A ALVORD Printer. 
29 Gold flwaet 





A Ratal Lover, from the "Lay of the Sc ;tti*h 

An Evening Walk in Virginia, from the "Letters 

from the South." 
A Trio of Frenchmen. 
Character of Washington. 
The Man that wanted but One Thing, the Man that 

wanted Everything, and the Man that wanted 





Irving' s Reminiscences of Allston. 

America to Great Britain'. 

Winter, from the "Sylphs of the Seasons." 


Invention in Art in Ostade and Raphael, from the 
'■Lectures on Art." 




Military Genius, from the "Essay on Napoleon." 

Religion in Literature, from the " Essay on Fenelon " 

The Woes of Modern Greece : a Prize Poem. 

The Shores of the Ohio. 


The House in which I was born: once the Head- 
quarters of Washington. 
The Dismantled Cabinet. 
The Buckwheat Cake. 


Passage from the Comic Annual. 


Moral Force of Public Opinion, from the Speech on 

the Revolution in Greece. 
The Union — Peroration of second Speech on Foot's 

Resolution in Reply to Hayne. 
The Becret of Murder— the Trial of Knapp for the 

Murder of White. 
From the Address before the New York Historical 

Societv, 1S52. 
Letter on the Morning, to Mrs. J. W. Paige. 


State Sovereignty, from the Speech on the Force 
Bill In the Senate, February, 1833. 


Sentences, from '' Didactics." 



Book-making Travellers in America, from "Inchi- 
quin's Letters." 


Passage from Address before the New England So- 
ciety of Michigan. 


Character of Nathaniel Macon, from the " Thirty 
Years' View." 




The Parisian "Pension." 


New England. 


The Dull Lecture. 

The Stout Gentleman, from " Bracebridge Hall." 
The Broken Heart, from the " Sketch Book." 
Description of the powerful Army assembled at the 

City of New Amsterdam, from "Knickerbocker's 

New York " 


Vision of Two Sisters in a Ball Room. 


JAMES T.AUSTIN • . . .61 

Passages from the Life of Elbridge Gerry 

SAMUEL L. KNAPP . . ... . .01 


A Castle in the Air. 



Fame and Authorship, from the Introduction to 
" Viator." 


The Mother and the Schoolmaster. 


Autumnal Reflections. 
The Pride of the Valley. 
. The Old Oaken Bucket. 


Invitations of the Muse, from "Airs of Palestine." 
An Italian Scene. 
Dedication Hymn. 
Centennial Ode. 

M. M. NOAH 73 

Lettor to William Dunlap, Esq. 



C. 8. EAFINESQUE . 76 




A Popular Preacher. 


Scene after a Summer Shower. 
On Listening to a Cricket. 
Funeral Dirge. 



Passage from a Fourth of July Oration. 
Passage from Preface to Oration on American Educa- 



Munudy on the Death of Decatur. 





The Montagues in America, from " Mrs. "Washington 


The Little Beach Bird. 

Immortality, from "the Husband and Wife's Grave." 

The Buccaneer. 

Edmund Kean's Lear, from the Paper on Kean's 

Influence of Home, from the Paper on Domestic Lite. 


Translation from tappho. 

Youth and Age. 

The Tribute. ' 

An Epigram, imitated from Archias. 




Passages from Fiesco. 
Passages from Sporting Papers. 


A Suuday Scene at the South. 










Sonnets, translated from Tasso. 
To the Mocking Biid. 

Capture ofa Whale, from "the Pilot." 
The Panther, from "the Pioneers." 
Deerslayer at the Death of his Savage Foe. 


Passage from Hadad. 

Last Evening of the World, from "the Judgment." 
Interview of Hadad and Tamar. 
The Temptation. 

The Education of Men of Leisure, from "the Rela- 
tions of Literature to a Republican Government. 1 ' 


Christopher Colles. 


The Incomprehensibility of God. 
The Rainbow. 


It Snows. 

Eoger Williams in the Forest. ■ 


Means and Motives in American Education. 

SAMUEL n. TUENEE . . .... 129 



Prize Prologue, recited at the Opening of the Park 

Theatre, 1S21. 

The Traveller, from " Curiosity." 
The Brothers. 
The Winged Worshippers. 

The Empty House. 


Indian Names. 

Jamestown Church. 
Life's Evening. 
The Early Eluc-Urd. 
Talk with the Sea. 



The Pillar of Glory. 


To Harry. 

The Past — a Fragrnont. 



Home, Sweet Homo. 


The Tomb of Genius. 




Pierre, the French Barber's Indian Adventure, from 
" the Dark Maid of Illinois," 


The White Stone Canoe — from the " Tales of a Wig- 





The Country Oveu. 



The Absent Father. 
The Ingle Side. 


A War Song of the Revolution. 
The Birth of a Poet. 


Study, from his Phi Beta Kappa Address in 1880. 





Passages from his Phi Beta Kappa Poem. 
Benefits to America of One National Literature. 
The Men and Deeds of the Revolution. 



Sonnet on the Completion of Noyes's Translation of 

the Prophets. November, 1887. 
Death of Probtis, from "Aurelian." 
Zenobia, Fausta, and Piso, from "Zenobia." 
Repose, from the "Lectures on Allston." 


The Plantation. 
To the Ursuliues. 

Spring Time. 


Spring in New England, from the "Age of Benevo- 



To a Waterfowl. 


The Death of the Flowers. 1 

Oh, Fairest of the Rural Maids. 

To the Evening Wind. 

Song of Marion's Men. 

The Battle Field. - 

The Land of Dreams. 

Robert of Lincoln. 

Corn-Shucking in South Carolina, from the "Letters 
ofa Traveller." 


Lines on finding a Fountain in a secluded part of a 


The Pine Forest. 





Passages from "Zophit-1." 

Egla Sleeping in the Grove of Acacias, from "Zo- 

Morning Sunlight, from "Zophiel." > 
Song, from "Zophicl." 


Passage from "Lines to John Lang." . 

Passages from " the Culprit F'ay." 


The Mocking Bird. 


To the Defenders of New Orleans. 


To Ennui, from "the Croakers." 

Ode to Fortune, " 

To CroaRer, Junior, " 

The American Flag " 



Tho Iron Greys. 

IJ»Q * + # * 

Domestic Happiness, from "the Croakers." 

Song, from "Fanny, 1 ' 

On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake. 

Marco Bozzaris. 

A Poet's Daughter. 


JAMES G. PERCIVAL . . . . . 

The Spirit of Poetry, from " Clio."' 

A Platonic Bacchanal Song. 

The Serenade. 

To Seneca Lake. 

The Graves of the Patriots. 


A School -Committee-Man and a Lawsuit. 



'1 J 


Description of Swallow Barn. 
Pursuits of a Philosopher. 

Religious Opportunities of Age. 


Passage from " Manhood." 


Health aud Temperance, from " Thoughts for 
Young Man." 


To the Daughter of a Friend. 
On Connecticut River. 
Salmon River. 

The Black Fox of Salmon River. 
The Sea Bird's Song. 


The Author's Key-note to Spanish Literature. 
Spanish Love Ballad, from the Eomancero of Pedro 

Flores, 1594. 
Hymn on the Ascension, from the Spanish of Luis do 

Don Quixote. 
La Dama Duende of Calderon. 


The Return of Columbus after his First Voyage, 

from the History of Ferdinand and Isabella. 
Queen Isabella, from the same. 
Death of Montezuma, from the Conquest of Mexico. 
Montezuma's Way of Life, from " 


Schiller's Love of Liberty, from the Lectures on 


On the Death of a Beautiful Girl. 


Characteristics of Lord Byron. 

The Voice of Years. 
Cornelia and Gracchus. Act III., Scene t. 


Passage from "Thomas Singularity." 

Voice of the Seasons. 



Passages from the " Boston Bard.' 



The McLean Asylum, Somerville, Mass. 


Passage from "American Bards." 
Hunting Song. 


The ISTlh Hymn. 



Old Age and Death, from the Essays on Life, Sleep, 
Pain, &c. 











Stanzas on the Death of Brainard. 

On seeing a Young Girl look very wishfully into the 

Street from a Window of Miss 's Boarding 

School, in Broadway. 
Sunday in Summer. 
Astor House. 


Napoleon, from the Don Juan. 
Thomas Addis Emmet. 



Appeal for Union of the Revolutionary Fathers and 

To an Aged and very Cheerful Christian Lady. 



The Elysian Fields, from "Gebel Teir." 



Proem to Yamoyden. 

A Monody made on the late Mr. Samuel Patch, by an 

Admirer of the Bathos. 
The Dead of 1832. 


The Bridal. 
The Bugle. 




The Approach of Age. 
Sonnet, " Andrew Jackson." 



"Man giveth up the Ghost, and where is ne?" 



Mourner of the Last Hope. 


Opportunities of Winter for Instruction. 


Passage from Speech on the Oregon Question. 
Description of the New England Climate. 
The Statesmanship of Daniel Webster. 
The Consolations of Literature. 

ENCES 289 


On a very old Wedding Ring. 


The Rescue of Everell by Magawisca, from "Hope 

The Shakers at Hancock, from "Redwood.*" 

nANNAH F. LEE 295 


The Circle of Financiers, from "Peter Sclllemilil." 


Do not Strain your Punch. 
On Perception. 


The Gentlemanly Character in Polities and Institu- 
tions, from the Address on the Character of the 
The Ship Canal, from the Atlantic to the Pacific. 


Comparison of John Locke and William Penn. 
Braddock's Defeat. 1755. 
Rural Life in England. 
The Boston Massacre, 1770. 

Study of the Infinite, from the New York Historical 
Society Address, 1854. 



Good Night. 

The Teacher's Lesson. 


Meditation at Athens, from "the Ruins of Athens." 





In Memory of William Leggett, 
The Main-Truck ; or, a Leap for Life. 


The Whip-poor-will. 
"Woodman spare that Tree. 
I'm with You once again. 
A Legend of the Mohawk. 

Near the Lake. 

The Croton Ode, written at the request of the Corpo- 
ration of the city of New York. 
My Mothers Bible. 


Isolation of the American Colonies, a Promotion of 



On the Return of Spring. 
On a Storm. 


Sunrise, from Mount Washington. 
The Poet. 



Some Ohservations concerning Quail. 
Hymn Tunes and Graveyards. 
AShark Story, from Fire Island Ana. 



Georgia Theatrics, from " the Georgia Scenes.'" 









Anglo-Saxon Influences of Home. 



A Sunset. 


The tread of Time. 

Song of a Spirit. 

The Young American. 

The Art of Being Happy. 

Jeremiah x. 17. 



The American People — their Moral and Intellectual 




Memoranda of Table-Talk. 



The Wreck of the Two Pollies. 


To the Weathercock on Our Steeple. 
The Baron's Last Banquet. 
Old Grimes. 


Passages from " Rodolph." 


The' Indian's Bride. 

A Picture-Song. 


A Health. 









Zaragoza, from " Spain Revisited." 
Lodgings in Madrid, and a Landlady, from the same. 
A London Cotfee-Room at Dinner Time, from "The 
American in England." 


The Problem. 


Good Bye. 

The Humble Bee. 

The Apology. 

Beauty, from "Nature." 

Love, fropi the Essays. 

Montaigne, from "Representative Men." 


Washington, from "Arnold and Andre." 

Alfieri and. Dante. 

The Nun. \ 


Moliure and Rachel. 

Pere la Chaise. 


The Beech Tree. 

A Rescue, from " Nick of the Woods." 


Stanzas from "A Sapphic for Thanksgiving." 
The Sunday School. 


The Brilliant Nor' West. 
The New and the Old Song. 



Scene from " Miriam." 

The Brothers; or, In the Fashion and Above the 


Ole Bull, from " Letters from New York." 
Old Age, from the same. 
The Brothers. 


Lilies on leaving Italy. 



The Ordinal. 

New Year's Verses, from the Desk of Poor Richard, 

Passage from a Commencement Poem. 
To My Father. 
Nature and Eevelation. 
This also shall pass away. 
Psalm exxxvii. 
A Sunday School Flymn, 
Hymn for Advent. 
De Profundus. 
Traveller's Hymn. 


Play, a Life of Freedom. 


The Flight of Years. 

Father Dagobert. 



The Fourth of July. 

National Characteristics. 


Passage from " the Loves of the Shell Fishes." 

A Hard-Cider Melody. 

Address to Black Hawk. 

To a Mosquito. 

Song, imitated from the French. 

Charcoal Sketch of Pot Pic Palmer. 


The Rhine, from " Ulric." 
An Outline Sketch. 


Biography of Jacob Hays. 


Thoughts at the Grave of a Departed Friend. 


The Desecration of the Flag. 






The Bastinado at Cairo, from " Incidents of Travel in 
Egypt.' 1 


The Angel's Song, from Goethe's "Faust." 
Conservatism and Eefurni. 


Law of Compensation in the Atmosphere. 


Gratitude to God. 


An Age of Passion. 

The Bard. 

Blessings on Children. 
The Eattlesnake, from ''the Yemassee." 


Intellectual Power. 


To the Eiver Ogeech-e. 
They are passing away. 
The Death of Jasper, an Historical Ballad. 


A Kitchen Fireside in the Old Dominion. 




Memory and Hope. 

The Belfry Pigeon. 
The Annoyer. 
Love in a Cottage. 
Unseen Spirits. 
Little Florence Gray. 

Letter to the Unknown Purchaser and Next Occu- 
pant of Glenmary. 

A Psalm of Life. 
Footsteps of Angels. 
Eain in Summer. 

The Old Clock on the Stairs. 
The Jewish Cemetery at Newport. 
Scenery of the Mississippi, from " Evangeline. 1 ' 
Pic-nic at Roaring Brook, from "Kavanagh." 

Evening Walk by the Bay. 


The Last Bear on the Hills of Warwick. 

Pedestrianism in Switzerland. 
Elements of the Swiss Landscape. 


To Passaic. 


Undeveloped Genius, a Passage in the Life 
garlick Pigwiggin, Esq. 

Washington and Hamilton. 
The Duel of Hamilton and Burr. 





To . 

Borne and Greece in America. 

John Woolman. 

Sonnet — the Eeproach of Yenus. 
To Juvenal. 
The Death of General Pike. 


Chapter from the Sleep Eider. 

Man Overboard. 

Peter Funk. 


The Laborer. 

of P. Pil- 



459 4 







The New Wife and the Old. 
A Dream of Summer. 


Sparkling and Brisht. 

The Mint Julep. 

Room, Boys, Eoora. 

Eio Bravo — a Mexican Lament. 

The Man in the Eeservoir, a Fantasie Piece. 


On the Death of my Eobin. 


A Fragment. 

The Wide World is Drear. 

Kindar Burial Service, Versified. 

To my Mother at Christmas. 


Lines suggested by the Moravian Burial Ground at 


Oh ! Tell me not of Lofty Fate. 

The Snow Flakes. 

Quest of the Soul, from "the Hours of Life. 
The Trailing Arbutus. 
A Still Day in Autumn. 
She blooms no more. 


Passage from the Introduction to the' " Lectures on 
English Literature." 

Poetical and Prose Eeading. 

Companionship of the Sexes in the Study of Litera- 


Euins in Borne, from " Six Months in Italy." 
The Picturesque in Rome, from the same. 


Old Winter is Coming. 
Spring is Coming. 

B. B. THATCHER .... 
The Last Request. 

The Frost. 
Mary Dow. 
It Snows. 

The Veteran and the Child. 
Hymn of the Reapers. 

. 472 









The Departed. 


Lines on visiting Tallulah Falls, Georgia. 

Peace between England aDd America. 

Objects and Limits of Science. 

Visit of Cicero to the Grave of Archimedes. 

The Grey Champion. 
Sights from a Steeple. 

Our Yankee Girls. 
Old Ironsides. 

The Churchyard at Cambridge. 
The Last Leaf. 
My Aunt. 

Evening, by a Tailor. 
On Lending a Punch Bowl. 
The Pilgrim's Vision. 





Literary Influences in America. 


Psalm xlvii. 

Hymn to Ceres. 
Farewell to New England. 

Souvenir de Kentucky. 



The Nook. 

To Nature, my Mother. 




To the Painted Columbine. 

The Wind Flower. 

The New Birth. 


:h ight. 

The Latter Eain. 


The Prayer. 

Passage from her Diary. 

A Dialogue. 

Poverty and Knowledge. 

On the Death of a Young Child. 



The Strawberry Girl. 


Snow: a Winter Sketch. 
The World Sale. 

CLABK 584 

A Song of May. 

To my Boy. 

Lines written at Laurel Hill Cemetery, near Phila- 

Old Songs. 

The Haunted Palace. 


The Raven. 

A Descent into the Maelstrom. 




'Tis said that Absence conquers Love. 


First Vivid Impressions in the Ancient Classics. 



Why I left the Anvil 


The Settler. 

An Autumn Landscape. 


Old Age. 



The Bell Bird. 

To him who can alone sit for the Picture. 

Twilight Thoughts. 



To the Spirit of Poetry. 


Song — She Loves him yet. 

To a dear little Truant. 

Strength from the Hills. 
The Poet. 


Meeting of the "Female Beneficent Society/' 



A Poet and his Song. 
Singing on the Way. 


A Lion in the Path. 



The Poet. 


The Cultivation of Taste. 


Reminiscences of Boyhood, from " Mile-Stones in onr 

Life Journey." 
The Age of St. Augustine, from "Studies in Christian 







The Old Clock. 



Holidays at Barcelona, from " Cosas de Espana." 


An Interrupted Banquet, from '"Life in a Liner." 
Without and Within. 

The Bouquet. 

True Enthusiasm, from a Colloquial Lecture on New 

England Philosophy. 
The Home of the Poet Eogers, from " A Month in 


Newport, from Aquidneck 

Lines on hearing Mendelssohn's Midsummer Night's 

The Sabbath, from the German of Krummacher. 


A New England Snow Storm, and a Home Scene, 
from "Margaret." 


The Eobin. 

J. L. H. M'CRACKEN 592 

The Art of Making Poetry. 



To a Swan, flying by night on the banks of the Hu- 


The Weird Sisters, from the Lectures on Shakspeare. 

E. H. CnAPIN 599 

Voices of the Dead, from " the Crown of Thorns." 

T. S. ARTHUR . . .601 

Gentle Hand. 



Washington and Napoleon. 


Uncle Tom in his Cabin. 



Lines to . 


The Song of the Old Year. 



Thoughts for the City. 

T. B. THORPE 612 

Tom Owen, the Bee Hunter. 


Organ Melodies. 


Allston's Belshazzar's Feast. 

Botta, the Historian. 



RICHARD n. DANA, Jr 6!9 

Homeward Bound, from "Two Years Before the 

The English Bible. 




God Bless the Mariner. 

To Mary. 
EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWOETH .... 024 

Chestnut Gathering, from " Queechy." 



EMILY C. JUDSON ....... 626 


Thoughts in a Library. 

To — with flowers. 



Rhyme of the Bail. 
Sonnet to a Clam. 
My Boyhood. 


A Burial among the Mountains, from "Peeps from a 

A Life on the Ocean Wave. 
The Death of Warren, 
O Ye Keen Breezes. 


COOKE 605 

Florence Vane 
Young Rosalie Lee. 

Prologue to "the Virginia Comedians." 

The Death of a Mountain Hunter, from "Leather 
Stocking and Silk." 


The Interior of St. Peter's. 


The Susquehannah. 



Verses from the Epistle to Landor. 
On a Bust of Dante. 
Steuart's Burial. 

JOnN W. BROWN .... 
The Christmas Bells. 


Gottingen, from "Morton's Hope. 1 ' 


How I caught a Cat, and what I did with it, from "A 
Stray Yankee in Texas." 


The Journalist. 
The Poor Man. 
Dietetic Charlatanry. 
Little Trappan. 


The Governor of the Chinchas. 


John Tabor's Ride — a Yarn from the "Etchings of a 
Whaling Cruise." 


A Character, from •' Walden." 
A Battle of Ants. 

Old Trinity. 

He standeth at the door and knocketh. 
The Volunteer's March. 

Come in the Moonlight. 


Margaret, from the Legend of Brittany. 
An Instant in a Railroad Car. 
The First Snow-fall. 
The Courtin'. 

The Alpine Sheep. 


The Genius of Washington. 

A Night HuDt in Kentucky. 


An Attack, from "Tales for the Marines.' 
Sagacity of Lobsters, from the same. 



642 i 







Redburn contemplates making a social call on tho 
Captain in his cabin. 


The Blind Girl. 





The Old Maid. 


Moonlight on the Grave. 


The Daughter of Herodias. 


The Building and Birds. 
Planting in Rain. 
The Little Frock. 


My Study. 

Greece, from "the Child of the Sea." 

The Forsaken. 


672 ' 







The City of my Love. 


Trees in the City. 
The Church. 

I Walk in Dreams of Poetry. 
She Comes to Me. 



The Spirit of Song. 



Pictures of Memory. 
Mulberry Hill. 

Coming Home. 

Funeral Chant for the Old Year. 


The Sabbath of the Year. 

To the Unsatisfied. 


Milton on his Blindness. 

The Black Frost. 


The Seasons, from a Poem, 

Of Thine Own Country Sing. 


The Live Oak. 

The City of the Dead. 

A Picture. 

Aunt Dinah. 







Tho Woods." 

Arctic Incidents. 


Close of Antiquity. 

JAMES T. FIELDS ^'. .... 

Letters, from "The Reveries of a Bachelor." 











The Closing Scene. 

Pennsylvania, from "The New Pastoral." 

The Village Church, from the same. 


Bunker Hill— an Old Time Ballad. 


Under the Palms, from the " Nile Notes." 


The Illinois. 


What is the Use? __ 


Robin's Come. . 

What Saith the Fountain ? 


The Window-panes at Brlmdon. 

A Picture. 



The Death of Dona Alda, from " Calaynos." 


Bedouin Song. 




The Two Brides. 



A Western Politician of the First Growth. 

Ichabod Crane beyond the Alleghanies. 

J. M. LEGAEE .720 



Ode to Shakspeare. 


A Portrait. 










Autograph or J. K. Paulding 
Residence of J. K. Paulding 
Portrait and Autograph of .Joseph 

Portrait and Autograph of Wash- 
ington Allston 
Portrait aud Autograph of Henry 

Pickering .... 
Portrait and Autograph of Daniel 

Webster . . . 
Portrait and Autograph of John 

C. Calhoun 
Autograph of Henry Wheaton 
Portrait and Autograph of Charles 

J. Ingersoll 
Autograph of Lewis Cass 
Portrait and Autograph of Thomas 

H. Benton ... 
Portrait and Autograph of Wash 

ington Irving . 
Sunnyside ' 

Portrait of Charles Nisbet . 
Dickinson College. 
Autograph of Samuel L. Knapp 
Autograph of Levi Frisbie . 
Portrait and Autograph of J. S, 

Buckminsler . 
Autograph of D. Hoffman 

S. Woodworth 
John Pierpont 
Portrait and Autograph of M. M 

Noah .... 
St. John's College, Md. 
Autograph of Nicholas Biddle 
Andrews Norton 
Thomas S. Grinike 
William Crafts 
Portrait and Autograph of Richard 

H. Dana .... 
Residence of Richard 11. Dana 
University of Nortli Carolina 
Portrait and Autograph of Richard 

Henry Wilde . 
Portrait and Autograph of James 

Fenimore Cooper . 
Otsego Hall .... 
Portrait and Autograph of John 

W. Francis 
Autograph of Job Durfee 

James Marsh . 
Portrait and Autograph of Charles 


Residence of Mrs. L. H. Sigourney 
Portrait and Autograph of Mrs. L. 

H. Sigourney .... 
Portrait and Autograph of John 

Howard Payne 
Park Theatre 
Portrait and Autograph of James 


Portrait and Autograph of Wil 

Ham L. Stone . 
Portrait and Autograph of Henry 

R. Schoolcraft 
Elmwood .... 
Williams College . 
Autograph of Edward Hitchcock 
Henry C. Carey 
John Neal 
Portrait and Autograph of Jared 


Portrait and Autograph of Edward 


page ] 

1 I 











Portraitand Autograph of Edward 

Everett .... 
Portrait and Autograph of Wi 

Ham Ware 
Portrait and Autograph of Caro- 
line Gilman ... 
Autograph of Carlos Wilcox. 
Portrait and Autograph of Wil 

Ham C. Bryant 
Residence of William C. Bryant 
Autograph of John D. Godman 
Bowuoin College . 
Portrait and Autograph of Elipha- 

IetNott .... 
Portrait and Autograph of Taylo: 

Lewis .... 
Union College 
Portrait and Autograph of Maria 


Portrait and Autograph of Josepl- 

Rodman Drake 
Portrait and Autograph of Fitz- 

Greene Halleck 
Portrait and Autograph of Jam* 

G. Percival 
Portrait and Autograph of D. P. 

Autograph of William B. Sprague 
Portrait and Autograph of John 

P. Kennedy 
Residence of John P. Kennedy 
Autograph of Horace Mann . 
Portrait and Autograph of George 


Portrait and Autograph of John 

G. C. Brainard 
Portrait and Autograph of Georg 

Ticknor .... 
Portrait and Autograph of Wil 

Ham H. Prescott 
Portrait and Autograph of Charles 

Follen .... 
Autograph of Calvin Colton . 
Walter Colton 
Portrait and Autograph of n. S 

Legare ..... 
Portrait and Autograph of Louisa 

S. M'Cord 
Autograph of Stephen Olin . 

Samuel H. Dickson 
Portrait of McDonald Clarke 
St. Thomas Hall, Flushing, N. Y, 
Portraitand Autograph of Francis 

L. Hawks 
Portrait and Autograph of Wil 

Ham Tudor 
Boston Atherjamm 
Portrait and Autograph of Robert 

C. Sands .... 
Wood at Hoboken. 
Autograph of Qrenville Mellen 
Prosper M. "Wet 

James Lawson 
W. B. 0. Peabody 
Rufus Choate 
Caleb Cushing 
Portrait and Autograph of Cathe 

line M. Sedgwick . 
Autograph of Hannah F. Lee 
George Wood. 
Portrait and Autograph of Francis 

































Residence of George Bancroft, at 

Newport 305. 

Portrait and Autograph of Gcorgo 

Bancroft 306 

Portrait of S. G. Goodrich . . 312 

Autograph of John O. Choules . 317 

Portrait of Thomas Cole . . 319 

Autograph of Alex. H. Everett . 320 
James G. Brooks . 324 

South Carolina College ... 330 

Portrait and Autograph of Tho- 
mas Cooper .... 332 

Portrait and Autograph of Wil- 
liam Leggett .... 343 

Portrait, Autograph, and Residence 

of George 1*. Morris . . 348 

Autograph of Cynthia Taggart . 352 
Rufus Dawes . . 354 
Jacob Abbott . 854 

Portrait and Autograph of Alex. 

Slidell Mackenzie ... 361 

Portrait and Autograph of Ralph 

Waldo Emerson ... 366 

Portrait and Autograph of George 

H. Calvert .... 373 

Autograph of Sumner L. Fairfield 376 

Portrait aud Autograph of Robert 

M. Bird 878 

Portrait and Autograph of Maria 

J. Mcintosh .... 384 

Autograph of L. Maria Child. . 383 

Portrait and Autograph of Wil- 
liam Cruswell .... 393 

Autograph of Horace Bushnell . 897 

Portraitand Autograph of Charles 

Gayarre 402 

Autograph of George W. Bethunc 404 

Portrait and Autograph of Theo- 
dore S. Fay . .412 

Autograph of Horatio Greenough 417 

Portrait and Autograph of John 

L. Stephens .... 420 

Portrait and Autograph of Mat- 
thew F. Maury ... 423 

Woodlands 427 

Portrait and Autograph of Wil- 
liam Gilmore Siintns . . 429 

Autograph of Robert M. Charl- 
ton 435 

Portrait and Autograph of N. P. 

Willis 433 

Idlewild 410 

Residence of Henry W. Longfel- 
low 444 

Portrait and Autograph of Henrv 

W. Longfellow . *. 444 

Portrait and Autograph of Henrv 

Wm. Herbert 450 

Portrait and Autograph of Joseph 

C. Neal 456 

Portraitand Autograph of Richard 

Hildreth 459 

Autograph of Laugh ton Osborne . 406 

Portrait and Autograph of John 

G. Whittier .... 473 

Portrait and Autograph of Charles 

Fenno Hoffman . . . 470 

Portrait and Autograph of Luere- 

tia M. Davidson ... 482 

Portrait and Autograph of Marga- 
ret M. Davidson ... 484 

Autograph of Emma C. Embury . 485 
Sarah U.Whitman. 487 



Portrait and Autograph of Henry 
Eeed .... 

Autograph of George S. Hillard 
Hannah F. Gould 
Park Benjamin 

Portrait and Autograph of Sober 
C. Wintbrop . 

The Old Manse 

Portrait and Autograph of Na- 
thaniel Hawthorne . 

Portrait and Autograph of Oliver 
W. Holmes . 

Autograph of Brantz Mayer . 
Albert Pike . 

Portrait and Autograph of A. Eou 
quette .... 

Autograph of Jones Very 

Portrait and Autograph of S. Mar 
garet Fuller Ossoli 

Autograph of Benson J. Lossing 
Ann S. Stephens 

Portrait and Autograph of Ralph 

Portrait and Autograph of Edgar 

A. Poe . 
Autograph of Charles Sumner 
Portrait and Autograph of E. T 

Conrad .... 
Autograph of Horace Greeley 
Portrait and Autograph of W. In- 

graham Kip .... 
Portrait and Autograph of Elihu 

Burritt . 
Portrait and Autograph of Alfred 

B. Street .... 
Portrait of Theodore Parker 
Portrait and Autograph of Fran 

ctis S. Osgood 

Portrait and Autograph of Eliza- 
heth Oakes Smith . 

Portrait and Autograph of Caro- 
line M. Kirkland 

Autograph of P. Hamilton Myers 

Portrait and Autograph of Wil- 
liam S. Mayo . 

Portrait and Autograph of Samuel 
Osgood .... 

Autograph of John M. Mackie 

Portrait and Autograph of Henry 
491 T. Tuckerman 

494 Portrait and Autograph of Charles 
497 T. Brooks 

499 Portrait and Autograph of Sylves 

ter Judd .... 
501 Autograph of John E. Brodhead 
504 Portrait and Autograph of Louis 

L. Noble 

506 Portrait and Autograph of Henry 

N. Hudson 
512 Portrait and Autograph of E. H. 
517 Chapin 

520 Portrait and Autograph of T. S. 

Arthur .... 

521 Autograph of W. H. C. Hosmer 
523 Portrait, Autograph, and Eesi 

dence of J. T. Headley . 
526 Portrait ind Autograph of Harriet 

529 Beecher Stowe 

530 Portrait and Autoirraph of Eliza- 

beth F. Ellett "... 

532 ' Portrait and Autograph of Eufus 

W. Griswold .... 

537 Portrait and Autograph of T. B, 

545 Thorpe .... 

Autograph of A. J. Downing 
547 Portrait and Autograph of Eichard 
549 II. Dana, Jun 

Portrait and Autograph of Anna 
552 Cora Mowatt .... 

Portrait and Autograph of Emily 
552 C. Judson .... 

Portrait and Autograph of Anne 
554 C. Lynch .... 

556 Portrait and Autograph of Joh 
G. Saxe .... 

559 Portrait and Autograph of Epes 

Sargent .... 
561 Portrait and Autograph of P. P. 

Cooke .... 
563 Portrait and Autograph of John 

566 Esten Cooke ... 
Portrait and Autograph of Come 

567 lius Mathews . 
Autograph of George W. Peck 

5T2 J. Eoss Browne 

560 Henry D. Thoreau, 





















Henry D. Thoreaifs House . . 654 
Portrait and Autograph of J. E. 

Lowell 659 

Portrait and Autograph of C. W. 

Webber 666 

Autograph of Henry A. Wise . 670 
Herman Melville . 672 
Eesidence of Herman Melville . 674 
Autograph of Pliny Miles . . 677 
Portrait and Autograph of Amelia 

B. Welby .... 677 
Portrait and Autograph of Estelle 

Anna Lewis .... 680 
Portrait and Autograph of Julia 

Ward Howe .... 681 
Portrait and Autograph of Alice 

B. Haven .... 682 
Portrait and Autograph of Sara J. 

Lippincott .... 685 
Portrait and Autograph of E. G. 

Squier 696 

Portrait and Autograph of E. K. 

Kane 698 

Autograph of Samuel Eliot . 699 

Portrait and Autograph of Donald 

G. Mitchell .... 701 
Portrait and Autograph of T. B. 

Eead 762 

Autograph of Frederick S. Coz- 

zens 704 

Portrait and Autograph of George 

W. Curtis .... 707 
Portrait and Autograph of Fran- 
cis Parkman .... 709 
Autograph of E. W. Ellsworth . 711 
John E. Thompson 718 
Portrait and Autograph of George 

H. Boker .... 714 
Portrait and Autograph of Bayard 

Taylor 716 

Portrait and Autograph of E. H. 

Stoddard 717 

Autograph of A. J. Eeqnier . . 720 
Hamilton College .... 722 
University of Virginia . . . 726 
the City of New 

York 733 

Smithsonian Institution, . . 739 
The Astor Library, New York . 741 





Is descended from one of the early pioneers of 
the State of New York, who appears in the an- 
cient records of Ulster County, of which he was 
sheriff in the time of Governor Dongan, some- 
times as Hendrick Pauldinck, sometimes as Heiti- 
rick Pauldon, and at others Henry Pawling, which 
was probably his English name, being so written 
in a grant of four thousand acres of land in Dutch- 
ess County to his widow Eltje Pawling, by King 
William the Third. This confusion of names is to 
he partly traced to the struggle for ascendency 
between the Dutch and English languages, and 
partly to the carelessness of the writers, who were 
not much practised in orthography ; so that from 
these causes it remains doubtful whether Henry 
Pawling wa; of English or Dutch extraction. 

Subsequently to this grant of King William the 
family removed to Dutchess County, a township 
of which is still called after their name. The 
grandfather of the subject of this sketch, many 
years previous to the Revolution, settled in the 
county of Westchester, on a farm still in posses- 
sion of his descendants. He always wrote his 
name Paulding, which has been ever sine.' adopted 
by that branch of the family, though that of Paw- 
ling has been retained by the others. The resi- 
dence of Paulding's father being " within the 
lilies," that is in the district intervening between 
the British army at New York and the American 
forces in the Highlands, and he being a somewhat 
distinguished Whig of the good old revolutionary 
stamp, his family was exposed to the insults and 
depredations of the Jagars, the Tories, and the 
Cow Boys. He removed his family in conse- 
quence to Dutchess County, where he possessed 

vol. n. — 1 

some property. Here Paulding was born, August 
22, 1779, at a place called Pleasant Valley. His 
father who, previous to the commencement of the 
Revolution, had acquired a competency, took a de- 
cided and active part in the preliminary struggles; 
was a leader of the Whig party in the county of 
Westchester ; a member of the first Committee of 
Safety, and subsequently Commissary General of 
the New York Continental quota of troops. When, 
in consequence of the total extinction of the public 
credit, and the almost hopeless state of the good 
cause, it was sometimes impossible to procure the 
necessary supplies for the American army then 
occupying the highlands of the Hud -ion, he made 
use of his own credit with his neighbors, the far- 
mers, and became responsible for large sums of 
money. At the conclusion of the war, on pre- 
senting his accounts to the Auditor-General, this 
portion of them was rejected on the ground that 
he was not authorized to make these pledges in 
behalf of government. He retired a ruined man, 
was thrown into a prison, which accidentally taking 
fire, he walked home and remained unmolested by 
his creditors. He could never be persuaded to 
renew his application to government; would never 
accept any office ; and though he lived to a great 
age made no exertions whatever to retrieve his 
fortunes. His wife, who was the main stay of 
the family, and a woman of great energy, industry, 
and economy, survived him several years and died 
still more aged. 

After the peace the family returned to their 
former abode in Westchester, where Paulding was 
educated at the village school, a log-house nearly 
two miles distant from his residence, in which he 
received all the learning he ever acquired from 
the tuition of Others, so that he maybe fairly con- 
sidered a self-made man. Here he remained at 
home until he arrived at manhood, when he came 
to the city of New York. His first sojourn in the 
city was with the late Mr. William Irving, who 
had married his sister, a man of wit and genius, 


■whose home was the familiar resort of a knot of 
young men of a similar stamp, who were members 
of the Calliopean Society, one of the first purely 
literary institutions established in the city.* He 
also became intimate at this time with Washing- 
ton Irving, whose elder brother William married 
Paulding's sister, and in connexion with whom he 
made his first literary venture in the publication 
of the series of periodical essays entitled Salma- 
gundi ; or the Whim-Whams and Opinions of 
Launcelot Langstaff and others, which were is- 
sued by David Longworth, a respectable but 
whimsical bookseller of the times, who, in virtue 
of having a copy of Boydell's Shakespeare, the 
plates of which he exhibited in his second story, 
christened his shop the Shakespeare Gallery ; some- 
times, too, calling it on the title-pages of his pub- 
lications the Sentimental Epicure's Ordinary. He 
was an extensive publisher of plays foreign and 
native, and became famous for his enterprise of the 
New York Directory .t 

The first number of Salmagundi appeared Sa- 
turday, January 24, 1807, in an eighteenmo. of 
twenty pages. It closed with the issue of number 
twenty, January 25, 1808. It was the joint work 
of Paulding and Irving, with the exception of the 
poetical epistles and three or four of the prose 
articles, which were from the pen of William Ir- 
ving. The work was a brilliant success from the 
start. The humors of the town were hit off with 
a freshness which is still unexhausted to the read- 
ers of an entirely ditferent generation. It dis- 
closed, too, the literary faculties of the writers, 
both very young men, with a rich promise for the 
future, in delicate shades of observation, the more 
pungent traits of satire, and a happy vein of de- 
scription which grew out of an unaffected love of 
nature, and was enlivened by studies in the best 
school of English poetry. When the work was 
concluded its two chief authors pursued their lite- 
rary career apart ; but it is noticeable as an exhi- 
bition of their kindly character, that the early 

* One of the members of this society was Eichard Bingham 
Davis, who was much admired for his poetical talents, in his 
appearance and manners he is said to have reminded his asso- 
ciates of Oliver Goldsmith. His person was clumsy, his man- 
ner awkward, his speech embarrassed, and his simplicity most 
remarkable in one who had been born and brought up in the 
midst of a crowd offcis fellow creatures. He was born in New 
Tork, August 21. 1771, was educated at Columbia College, mo- 
destly pursued the business of his father, in carving or sculp- 
ture in wood, but was induced in 1796 to undertake the edi- 
torial department of the Diary, a daily gazette published in 
New Tork, for which he wrote during a year. He was too sen- 
sitive, and his literary tastes, which iay "in the direction of the 
belles lettres. were too delicate for this pursuit. He next en- 
raged in mercantile affairs. In 1799 he fell a victim to the yel- 
low fever then prevailing in New York, carrying the seed's of 
the disease with him to New Brunswick, New Jersey, where he 
died in his twenty-eighth year. His poems were expressions 
of personal feeling and sentiment, and have a tinge of melan- 
choly. They were collected by his friends of the Calliopean 
Society after his death and published by Swords in lSt-7, with 
a well written prefatory memoir from the pen of John T. 
Irving. An ''Ode to Imagination" shows his earnestness, as a 
clever "Elegy on an Old Wigfound in the street," does his hu- 
mor. He was also a contributor to the Drone papers in the 
New Tork Magazine, where he drew a Will written character 
of himself under the name of Martlet. 

t '' David Longworth, an eccenti ic bookseller, who had filled 
a large apartment with the valuable engravings of Boydell's 
Shakespeare Gallery, magnificently framed, and had nearly 
obscured the front of his house with a huge sign. — a colossal 
painting, in chiaro sniro, of the crowning of Shakespeare. 
Loiigwortb had an extraordinary propensity to publish elegant 
works, to the great gratification of persons of taste, and the no 
small diminution of his own slender fortune." — Preface to Sal- 
magundi. Paris edition. 1S34. 

partnership in Salmagundi has never been dis- 
solved by a division of the joint stock between the 
owners of the separate articles. The whole is 
included in the incomplete stereotype edition of 
Paulding's works. In 1819 a second series of the 
work was published, which was entirely from his 
hand. Though not unsuccessful, it was not re- 
ceived by the public as its predecessor. The 
" town" interest had diminished. More than ten 
years had elapsed ; the writer was then engaged 
in official duties at Washington ; his mind had as- 
sumed a graver cast, and the second series of Sal- 
magundi is deficient in that buoyant spirit of viva- 
city which is one of the distinguishing features of 
the first. 

About the period of the commencement of the 
second war with England, his feelings being 
strongly excited by the position of affairs of the 
times, he published The Diverting Eistovy of 
John Bull and Brother Jonathan, in the style of 
Arbuthnot, in which the United States and Eng- 
land are represented as private individuals, father 
and son engaged in a domestic feud. In this work 
the policy and conduct of England towards the 
United States is keenly but good-humoredly sa- 
tirized, so much so that the whole was republished 
in numbers in one of the British journals. It 
passed through several editions, one of which is 
embellished with several capital illustrations by 
Jarvis, and was among the most successful of the 
author's productions. In the volume of Harpers' 
edition of this tale it is followed by another in the 
same vein called the History of Uncle Sam and 
his Boys. 

The Diverting History was followed by a poem 
entitled The Lay of the Scottish Fiddle* a free 
parody of the Lay of the Last Minstrel, which ap- 
peared anonymously, like most of Paulding's ear- 
lier writings. This production is principally de-~- 
voted to satirizing the predatory warfare of the 
British on Chesapeake Bay, and, what is some- 
what remarkable, was published in a very hand- 
some style in London with a preface highly com- 
plimentary to the author. The hero is Admiral 
Cockburn, and the principal incident the burning 
and sacking the little town of Havre de Grace on 
the coast of Maryland. It had at that time what 
might be called the distinction of provoking a 
fierce review from the London Quarterly. It is 
clever as a parody, and contains many passages 
entirely original and of no inconsiderable beauty. . 

Paulding soon after published a pamphlet in 
prose, The United States and England, taking up 
the defence of the country against the attack of 
the London Quarterly in its famous review of In- 
gersoll's Inchiquin Letters. The sale of the work 
was interrupted by the failure of the publisher 
about the time of its publication. It however 
attracted the notice of President Madison, and 
paved the way for the subsequent political career 
of the author. The design of the work was to 
expose the unwarrantable course of the Quarterly 
in drawing general conclusions from solitary ex- 
amples, and for this purpose the author cites in- 
stances from the newspapers of England and other 

* The Lay of the Scottish Fiddle : a Tale of Havre de Grace. 
Supposed to be written by Walter Scott, Esq. First American, 
from the fourth Edinburgh edition. New Tork: Inskeep and 
Bradford. 1S13. 82mo. pp. 262. 


sources to show that if these are to be assumed as 
the standard of national morality or manners the 
English are far in advance of the Americans in 
vulgarity, vice, and depravitv. 

This was followed up, in 1822, by A Sketch of 
Old England by a Neio England Man, purporting 
to be a narrative of a tour in that country. It 
commences with an account of various travelling 
incidents humorously narrated ; but the writer 
soon passes to a discussion of the social, religious, 
and political points of difference between the two 
nations, which occupies the chief portion of the 
volumes. In 1824 he returned to this subject in 
a new satire on the English traveller-, John Bull 
in America; or the New Munchausen, purporting 
to be a tour of a cockney English traveller in the 
United States. It exhibits a broad caricature of 
the ignorant blunders and homebred prejudices of 
this class of national libellers, equally provocative 
of laughter and contempt. The hero, through 
various chances, frequently encounters a shrewd 
little Frenchman wearing a white hat, draped in 
white dimity, with gold ear-rings, who, from 
meeting so continually, he is at length convinced 
is seeking an opportunity to rob, if not to murder 

Iu 1815, after a tour through Virginia, he wrote 
Letters from the South, by a Northern Man, prin- 
cipally occupied with sketching the beauties of 
the scenery and the manners of the people of the 
" Ancient Dominion." The author digresses to 
various subjects, on which he delivers his opinions 
with his usual straightforward frankness. 

In 1818 appeared his principal poetical produc- 
tion, The Backwoodsman, an American poem in 
sentiment, scenery, and incidents.- It is in six 
books of some five hundred lines each, written in 
the heroic measure. Basil, the hero, appears at 
the opening as a rural laborer on the banks of the 
-Hudson, reduced to poverty by being confined a 
whole winter by sickness. On the approach of 
spring he is attracted by reports of the fertility of 
the West, the cheapness of the land, and the pros- 
pect of improving his condition, and resolves to 
seek his fortune in that far distant paradise, lie 
abandons his home, and proceeds on his adven- 
ture accompanied by his wife and family. The 
wanderer's farewell, as he turns a last look on the 
course of the Hudson through the Highlands, is a 
pleasant passage of description; and the journey 
through Jersey and Pennsylvania to the Ohio, 
presents various little incidents, as well as 
sketches of scenery evidently drawn from the 
life by a true lover of nature. Arrived at Pitts- 
burg, he proceeds with a company of emi- 
grants he finds collected there to his destination 
in one of those primitive vessels called Broad- 
horns, which have become almost, obsolete since 
the introduction of steamers. Here the progress 
of an infant settlement is sketched, and the author, 
after seeing Basil comfortably housed, leaves him 
somewhat abruptly to plunge into the desert wild, 
and introduce his readers to the Indian prophet, 
who, in conjunction with some renegade whites, 
was at that time employed in stirring up the 
savages to take part in the approaching hostilities 
between the United States and England, and by 
whom the little settlement of Basil and his com- 
panions is subsequently ravaged and destroyed. 
War ensues; the backwoodsmen with Basil at 

their head pursue the savages, and finally over- 
take them; a bloody fight follows; the prophet 
falls by the hand of Basil, and the savages are 
completely routed. Basil returns home; peace is 
restored, and he passes the remainder of his life 
in prosperity and honor. The poem closes with 
a glowing apostrophe to the native land of the 

The descriptive parts of this poem are perhaps 
the best portions of the work. The versification 
is in general vigorous and glowing, though there 
are not a few occasional exceptions, together with 
some inaccuracies of expression, which the author 
would probably now correct were a new edition 
called for. The Backwoodsman belongs to the 
old school of poetry, and met with but ordinary 
success at home, though translations of a portion 
were published and praised in a literary periodical 
of the time at Paris. 

The scene of Paulding's first novel is laid 
among the early Swedish settlers on the Dela- 
ware. It was originally called Konigsmarh, or 
the Long Finne, a name that occurs in our early 
records, but the title was changed in a subsequent 
edition to Old Times in the New World, for rea- 
sons set forth in the publisher's notice. It was 
divided into separate books, each preceded by an 
introductory chapter after the manner of Field- 
ing's Tom Jones, and having little connexion with 
the story. They are for the most part satirical, 
and in the progress of the narrative the author 
parodies Noma of the Fitful Head in the person 
of Bombie of the Frizzled Head, an ancient 
colored virago. 

In 1826 he wrote Merry Tales of the Three 
Wise Men of Gotham, prefaced by a grave disser- 
tation on the existence and locality of that re- 
nowned city. This was a satire on Mr. Owen's 
system of Socialism, which then first began to at- 
tract attention in the United States, on Phreno- 
logy, and the legal maxim of Caveat Emptor, 
each exemplified in a separate story. The Three 
Wise Men are introduced at sea in the famous 
Bowl, relating in turn their experience with a 
view of dissipating the ennui of the voyage. 

This was followed by The Traveller's Guide, 
which was mistaken for an actual itinerary, in 
consequence of which it was christened somewhat 
irreverently The New Pilgrim's Progress. It is 
a burlesque on the grandiloquence of the current 
Guide Books, and the works of English travellers 
in America. It exhibits many satirical sketches 
of fashionable life and manners, and will be a 
treasure to future antiquaries for its allusions to 
scenes and persons who flourished at the time 
when, as the writer avers, the dandy must never, 
under any temptation, extend his morning prome- 
nade westwardly, and step beyond the northwest 
corner of Chambers street, all beyond being vul- 
gar terra incognita to the fashionable world. 
Union Square was then a diminutive Dismal 
Swamp, and Thirteenth street a lamentable resort 
of cockney sportsmen. This was in 1828, when 
to be mistress of a three-story brick house, with 
mahogany folding doors, and marble mantels, was 
the highest ambition of a fashionable belle. After 
exhausting New York, the tourist recommends 
one of those "sumptuous aquatic palaces," the 
safety barges, which it grieves him to see aro 
almost deserted for the swifter steamers, most 


especially by those whose time being worth 
nothing, they are anxious to save as much of it 
as possible. In one of these he proceeds leisurely 
up the river to Albany, loitering by the way, no- 
ticing the various towns and other objects of 
interest, indulging in a variety of philosophical 
abstractions and opinions, now altogether con- 
signed to the dark ages. Finally he arrives at 
Balston and Saratoga by stage-coach, where he 
makes himself merry with foibles of the elite, the 
manoeuvres of discreet mothers, the innocent arts 
of their unsophisticated daughters, and the deplo- 
rable fate of all grey-whiskered bachelors, who 
seek their helpmates at fashionable watering- 
places. The remainder of the volume is occupied 
with rules for the behavior of young ladies, mar- 
ried people, and bachelors young and old, at the 
time-renowned springs. A number of short 
stories and sketches are interspersed through the 
volume, which is higldy characteristic of the 
author's peculiar humors. 

Tales of the Good Woman, by a Doubtful Gen- 
tleman, followed in sequence, and soon after ap- 
peared The Booh of St. Nicholas, purporting to 
be a translation from some curious old Dutch le- 
gends of New Amsterdam, but emanating ex- 
clusively from the fertile imagination of the 
author. He commemorates most especially the 
few quaint old Dutch buildings, with the gable- 
ends to the streets, and steep roofs edged like 
the teeth of a saw, the last of which maintained 
its station in New street until within a few years 
past as a bakery famous for New Year Cakes, but 
at length fell a victim to the spirit of " progress. " 

The Dutchman's Fireside, a story founded on 
the manners of the old Dutch settlers, so charm- 
ingly sketched by Mrs. Grar.t* in the Memoirs of an 
American Lady, next made its appearance. It is 
written in the author's happiest vein, and was 
the most popular ofsall his productions. It went 
through six editions within the year; was re- 
published in London, and translated into the 
French and Dutch languages. This work was 
succeeded by Westward Ho ! the scene of which is 
principally laid in Kentucky, though the story is 
commenced in Virginia. The Dutchman's Fireside 
was published in Paris under the title of is Coin du 
Feu d'un Hollandais. For each of these novels 
the author, as we are assured, received the then 
and still important sum of fifteen hundred dol- 
lars from the publishers on delivery of the manu- 

A Life of Washington, principally prepared for 

* Mrs. Grant was born in Glasgow in 1755, the daughter of 
Duncan M'Vickar, -who came in her childhood to America as 
au officer in the British army. He resided at different parts 
of New York; for a lime at Albany and at Oswego, visiting the 
frontier settlements. This residence afforded Mrs. Grant the 
material for the admirable descriptions which she afterwards 
wrote of manners in this state as they existed before the Revo- 
lution. In 1768 she returned to Scotland. In 1779 she was 
married to the Bev. James Grant, the minister of Lairiran in 
the Highlands, becoming his widow in 1^01. After this, she 
turned her thoughts to literature, first publishing a volume 
of Poems in IS' 3; then her Letters from the Mountains, being 
a selection from her correspondence from 1778 to 1SC4, in 
1806. Her Memoirs of an American Lady was published in 
1S08; her Essays on the Superstitions of the Highlands in 
1811 ; and a Poem, Eighteen Hundred and Thirteen, in 1814. 
During her latter years she was quite a celebrity in Edin- 
burgh, figuring pleasantly in the Diary of Walter Scott, who 
drew up the memorial which secured her a pension of one 
hundred pounds from George IV. She died Kov. 7, 1S3S, at 

the use of the more youthful class of readers, suc- 
ceeded these works of imagination. It was origi- 
nally published in two small volumes, and after- 
wards incorporated with Harpers' Family Libra- 
ry. Five thousand copies were contracted for 
with the publishers for distribution in the public 
schools. It is an admirable production, and 
shows conclusively that the author is equally 
qualified for a different sphere of literature from 
that to which he has principally devoted himself. 
Though written with a steady glow of patriotism, 
and a full perception of the exalted character and 
services of the Father of his country, it is pure 
from all approaches to inflation, exaggeration, 
and bombast. The style is characterized by sim- 
plicity combined with vigor; the narrative is 
clear and sufficiently copious without redun- 
dancy, comprising all the important events of the 
life of the hero, interspersed with various cha- 
racteristic anecdotes which give additional inter- 
est to the work, without degrading it to mere 
gossip, and is strongly imbued with the nation- 
ality of the author. Being addressed to the 
youthful reader, he frequently pauses in his nar- 
rative to inculcate the example of Washington's 
private and public virtues on his readers. The 
character of Washington, as summed up at the 
conclusion, is one of the most complete we have 
ever met with. 

In 1836, about the period that what is known 
as the Missouri Question was greatly- agitating 
the country, both North and South, he published 
a review of the institution, under the title of 
Slavery in the United States, in which he regards 
the subject with strong southern sympathies. He 
considers slavery as the offspring of war ; as an 
expedient of humanity to prevent the massacre 
of prisoners by savage and barbarous tribes and 
nations, who having no system for the exchange 
of prisoners, and no means of securing them, have 
in all time past been accustomed to put to death 
those whose services they did not require as 
slaves. He treats the subject with reference both 
to divine and human laws, and passing from 
theory to the practical question as applicable to 
the United States, places before his readers the 
consequences, first of universal emancipation, 
next of political and social equality, and lastly of 

The last of Paulding's avowed publications are 
TJie Old Continental, or the Price of Liberty^ a 
Revolutionary stor\', The Puritan and his 
Daughter, the scene of which is partly in Eng- 
land, partly in the United States, and a volume 
of American Plays,* in conjunction with his 
youngest son William Irving Paulding, then a 
youth under age. The plots of these pieces are 
defective, and the incidents not sufficiently dra- 
matic, but the dialogue exhibits no inconsiderable 
degree of the vis coin iea. 

This closes our catalogue of the chief produc- 
tions of the author, which appeared at different 
intervals during a period of nearly half a century. 

the age of eighty-three. 

* American Comedies by J. K. Paulding 3nd William Irving 
Paulding. Contents — The Bucktails. or Americans in Eng- 
land ; The Noble Exile: Madmen All. or the Cure of Love; 
Antipathies, or the Enthusiasts by the Ears. The first of these 
was the only one by the father. It was written shortly after 
the conclnsion of the War of 1812. The volume was published 
by Carey & Hart in Philadelphia, in 1S47. 


Most of them were republished in a uniform stereo- 
typed edition by Harper" and Brothers in 1835. 
The}' constitute, however, only a portion of his 
writings, which many of them appeared anony- 
mously, and are dispersed through various period- 
icals ami newspapers, among which are the 
New York Mirror, the Analectic, the Knicker- 
bocker, and Graham's Magazine, Godey's Lady's 
Bjook, the Democratic Review, the United States 
Review, the Literary World, Wheaton's Nation- 
al Advocate, the National Intelligencer, the 
Southern Press, the Washington Union, &'c, &o. 
He also contributed two articles to a volume by 
different bands edited by the late Robert C. Sands, 
whimsically entitled Tales of the Glauber Spa. 
These contributions were, Chihle Roeliff's Pil- 
grimage, and Selim the Friend of Mankind. The 
former is a burlesque on fashionable tours, the 
latter exposes the indiscreet attempts of over- 
zealous philanthropists to benefit mankind. Most 
of these contributions were anonymous, and many 
of them gratuitous ; to others lie affixed his name, 
on the requisition of the publishers. The collec- 
tion woidd form many volumes, comprising a 
great variety of subjects, and exhibiting almost 
every diversity of style " from grave to gay, from 
lively to severe." 

A favorite mode of our author is that of em- 
bodying and exemplifying some sagacious moral 
in a brief story or allegory, either verse or prose, 
specimens of which may be seen in the Literary 
World under the caption of Odds and Ends, by 
an Obsolete Author, in the New York Mirror, 
Graham's Magazine, and other periodicals. 

He has also occasionally amused himself with 
the composition of Fairy Tales, and is the author 
of an anonymous volume published in 1838 by 
Appleton, called A Gift from Fairy Land, beauti- 
fully illustrated by designs from Chapman. We 
are informed that only one thousand copies of 
this work were contracted for by its publisher, 
five hundred of which were taken by a London 
bookseller. It appeared subsequently to the 
stereotyped edition of Harper and Brothers, and 
is not included in the series, which has never been 
completed, owing, we are informed, to some diffi- 
culties between the author and his publishers, in 
consequence of which it is now extremely difficult 
to procure a complete set of his works. 

In almo-t all the writings of Paulding there is 
occasionally infused a dash of his peculiar vein of 
humorous satire and keen sarcastic irony. To 
those not familiarized with his manner, such is 
the imposing gravity, that it is sometimes some- 
what difficult to decide when ho is jesting and 
when he is in earnest. This is on the whole a 
great disadvantage in an age when irony is seldom 
resorted to, and has occasionally subjected the 
author to censure for opinions which he does not 
sanction. His most prominent characteristic is, 
however, that of nationality. He found his inspi- 
ration at home at a time when American woods and 
fields, and American traits of society, were gene- 
rally supposed to farriish little if a"ny materials 
for originality. He not merely drew his nourish- 
ment from his native soil, but whenever "that 
mother of a mighty race " was assailed from 
abroad by accumulated injuries and insults, stood 
up manfully in defence of her rights and her honor. 
He has never on any occasion" bowed to the su- 

premacy of European example or European 
criticism; he is a stern republican in all his 

Fortunately he lias lived to see a new era dawn- 
ing on his country. He has seen his country be- 
come intellectually, as well as politically, indepen- 
dent, and strong in the result he labored and 
helped to achieve, he may now look back with 
calm equanimity on objects which once called for 
serious opposition, and laugh where the satirist 
once raged. 

Though a literary man by profession, he has, 
ever since the commencement of the second war 
with England, turned his mind occasionally to- 
wards politics, though never as an active politi- 
cian. His writings on this subject have been 
devoted to the support of those great principles 
which lie at the root of the republican system, 
and to the maintenance of the rights of his 
country whenever assailed from any quarter. 
His progress in life has been upwards. In 1814 
or '15 he was appointed Secretary to the Board 
of Navy Commissioners, then first established. 
After holding this position for a few years, he 
resigned to take' the office of Navy Agent for the 
port of New York, which he held twelve years 
under different administrations, and finally re- 
signed on being placed at the head of the Navy- 
Department by President Van Buren. We have 
heard him state with some little pride, that all 
these offices were bestowed without any solicita- 
tion on his part, or that of his friends, so far as 
he knew. 

After presiding over the Navy Department 
nearly the entire term of Mr. Van Buren's ad- 
ministration, he, according to custom, resigned 
his office on the inauguration of President Har- 
rison, and soon afterwards retired to a pleasant 
country residence on the east bank of the Hud- 
son, in the county of Dutchess, where he now 

Paulding's Residence. 

Here, in the midst of his grand-children, en- 
joying as much health as generally falls to the lot 
of threescore and fifteen, and still preserving in 
all their freshness those rural tastes acquired in 
his youth, nature has rewarded her early votary 


in the calm pursuits of agriculture, lettered ease, 
and retirement. In a late visit we paid him at 
Hyde Park, he informs us, lie had visited the city 
but twice in the last ten years, and gave his daily 
routine in the following cheerful summary. " I 
smoke a little, read a little, write a little, rumi- 
nate a little, grumble a little, and sleep a great 
deal. I was once great at pulling up weeds, to 
which I have a mortal antipathy, especially bulls- 
eyes, wild carrots, and toad-Hax — alias butter and 
eggs. But my working days are almost over. I 
find that carrying seventy-five years on my 
shoulders is pretty nearly equal to the same num- 
ber of pounds, and instead of laboring myself, 
sit in the shade watching the labors of others, 
which I find quite sufficient exercise." 


Close in a. darksome corner sat 

A scowling wight with old wool hat, 

That dangled o'er his sun-burnt brow, 

And many a gaping rent did show. 

His beard in grim luxuriance grew; 

His great-toe peep'd from either shoe ; 

His brawny elbow shone all bare ; 

All matted was his carrot hair ; 

And in his sad face you might see, 

The withering look of poverty. 

He seem'd all desolate of heart, 

And in the revels took no part ; 

Yet those who watch'd his blood-shot eye, 

As the light dancers flitted b}', 

Might jealousy and dark despair, 

And love detect, all mingled there. 

He never turn'd his eye away 

From one fair damsel passing gay; 

But ever in her airy round, 

"Watch'd her quick step and lightsome bound. 

Wherever in the dance she turn'd, 

He turn'd his eye, and that eye'burn'd 

With such fierce spleen, that, sooth to say, 

It made the gazer turn away. 

Who was the damsel passing fair, 

That caus'd his eyeballs thus to glare ? 

It was the blooming Jersey maid, 

That our poor wight's tough heart betray'd. 

By Pompton's stream, that silent flows, 

Where many a wild-flower heedless blows. 

UnmarkM by any human eye, 

Unpluck'd by any passer-by, 

There stands a church, whose whiten'd side 

Is by the traveller often spied, 

Glittering among the branches fair 

Of locust trees that flourish there. 

Along the margin of the tide, 

That to the eye just seems to glide, 

And to the list'ning ear ne'er throws 

A murmur to disturb repose, 

The stately elm majestic towers, 

The lord of Pompton's fairy bowers. 

The willow, that its branches waves, 

O'er neighborhood of rustic graves, 

Oft when the summer south-wind blows, 

Its thirsty tendrils, playful throws 

Into the river rambling there, 

The cooling influence to share 

Of the pure stream, that bears imprest 

Sweet nature's image in its breast. 

Sometimes on sunny Sabbath day, 

Our ragged wight would wend his way 

To this fair church, and lounge about, 

With many an idle sunburnt lout. 
And stumble o'er the silent graves ; 
Or where the weeping-willow waves. 
His listless length would lay him down. 
And spell the legend on the stone. 
'Twos here, as ancient matrons say, 
His eye first caught the damsel gay, 
Who, in the interval between 
The services, oft tript the green, 
And threw her witching eyes about, 
To great dismay of bumpkin stout, 
"Wlm felt his heart rebellious beat, 
Whene'er those eyes he chanced to meet. 

As our poor wight all listless lay, 
Dozing the vacant hours away, 
Or watching with his half-shut eye 
The buzzing flight of bee or fly, 
The beauteous damsel pass'd along, 
Humming a stave of sacred song. 
She threw her soft blue eyes askance, 
And gave the boob} 7 such a glance, 
That quick his eyes wide open flew, 
And his wide mouth flew open too. 
He gaz'd with wonder and surprise, 
At the mild lustre of her eyes, 
Her cherry lips, her dimpled cheek, 
Where Cupids play'd at hide and seek, 
Whence many an arrow well, I wot, 
Against the wight's tough heart was shot. 

He follow'd her where'er she stray'd, 
While every look his love betray'd ; 
And when her milking she would ply, 
Sooth'd her pleas'd ear with Rhino-Die, 
Or made the mountain echoes ring, 
With the great feats of John Paulding ; — 
How he, stout moss-trooper bold, 
Refus'd the proffer'd glittering gold, 
And to the gallant youth did eiy, 
"One of us two must quickly die ! " 

On the rough meadow of his cheek, 

The scythe he laid full twice a week, 

Foster'd the honors of his head, 

That wide as scruboak branches spread, 

With grape-vine juice, and bear's-grease too, 

And dangled it in eelskin queue. 

In short, he tried each gentle art 

To anchor fast her floating heart ; 

But still she scorn'd his tender tale, 

And saw unmov'd his cheek grow pale, 

Flouted his suit with scorn so cold, 

And gave him oft the bag to hold. 


In truth, the little solitary nook into which I am 
just now thrown, bears an aspect so interesting, 
that it is calculated to call up the most touchingly 
pleasing exertions, in the minds of those who love 
to indulge in the contemplation of beautiful Bcenes. 
We are the sous of earth, and the indissoluble 
kindred between nature and man is demonstrated 
by our sense of her beauties. I shall not soon for- 
get last evening, which Oliver and myself spent 
at this place. It was such as can never be described 
— I will therefore not attempt it; but it was still as 
the sleep of innocence — pure .as ether, and bright 
as immortality. Having travelled only fourteen 
miles that day, I did not feel tired as usual ; and 
after supper strolled out alone along the windings 
of a little stream about twenty yards wide, that 
skirts a narrow strip of green meadow, between the 
brook and the high mountain at a little distance. 

You will confess my landscapes are well watered, 
for every one has a river. But such is the case in 


this region, where all the passes of the mountains 
are made by little rivers, that in proeess of time 
have laboured through, and left a space for a road 
on their banks. If nature will do these things, I 
can't help it — not I. In the course of the ramble 
the moon rose over the mountain to the eastward, 
which being just by, seemed to bring the planet 
equally near; and the bright eyes of the stars began 
to glisten, as if weeping the dews of evening. I 
knew not the name of one single star. But what 
of that? It is not necessary to be an astronomer, 
to contemplate with sublime emotions the glories of 
the sky at night, and the countless wonders of the 

These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights, 

That give a name to every fixed star, 
Have no more profit of their living nights, 

Than those that walk and wot not what they are. 

Men maybe too wise to wonder at anything; as 
they may be too ignorant to see anything without 
wondering. There is reason also to believe, that 
astronomers may be sometimes so taken up with 
measuring the distances and magnitude of the stars, 
as to lose, in the intense minuteness of calculation, 
that noble expansion of feeling and intellect com- 
bined, which lifts from nature up to its great first 
cause. As respects myself, I know no more of the 
planets, than the man in the moon. I only contem- 
plate them as unapproachable, unextiugnishable 
fires, glittering afar off, in those azure fields whose 
beauty and splendour have pointed them out as the 
abode of the Divinity; as such, they form bright 
links in the chain of thought that leads directly to 
a contemplation of the Maker of heaven and earth. 
Nature is, indeed, the only temple worthy of the 
Deity. There is a mute eloquence in her smile ; a 
majestic severity in her frown ; a divine charm in 
her harmony ; a speechless energy in her silence ; a 
voice in Iter thunders, that no reflecting being can 
resist. It is in such scenes and seasons, that the 
heart is deepest smitten with the power and good- 
ness of Providence, and that the soul demonstrates 
its capacity for maintaining an existence independ- 
ent of matter, by abstracting itself from the body, 
and expatiating alone in the boundless regions of the 
past and the future. 

As I continued strolling forward, there gradually 
came a perfect calm — and even the aspen-tree whis- 
pered no more. But it was not the deathlike calm 
of a winter's night, when the northwest wind grows 
quiet, and the frosts begin in silence to forge fetters 
for the running brooks, and the gentle current of 
life, that flows through the veins of the forest. 
The voice of man and beast was indeed unheard ; 
but the river murmured, and the insects chirped iu 
the mild summer evening. There is something se- 
pulchral in the repose of a winter night ; but in the 
genial seasons of the year, though the night is the 
emblem of repose, it is the repose of the couch — not 
of the tomb — nature still breathes in the buzz of in- 
sects, the whisperings of the forests, and the mur- 
murs of the running brooks. We know she will 
awake in the morning, with her smiles, her bloom, 
her zephyrs, and warbling birds. " In such a night 
as this," if a man loves any human being in this 
wide world, he will find it out, for there will his 
thoughts first centre. If he has in store any sweet, 
or bitter, or bitter-sweet recollections, which are lost 
in the bustle of the world, they will come without 
being called. If, in his boyish days, he wrestled, 
and wrangled, and rambled with, yet loved, some 
chubby boy, he will remember the days of his child- 
hood, its companions, cares, and pleasures. If, in 
his days of romance, he used to walk of evenings, 
with some blue-eyed, musing, melancholy maid, 

whom the ever-rolling wave of life dashed away 
from him for ever — he will recall her voice, her eye, 
and her form. If any heavy and severe disaster has 
fallen on his riper manhood, and turned the future 
into a gloomy and unpromising wilderness ; he will 
feel it bitterly at such a time. Or if it chance that 
he is grown an old man, and lived to see all that 
owned his blood, or shared his affections, struck 
down to the earth like dead leaves in autumn ; in 
such a night, he will call their dear shades around, 
and wish himself a shadow. 


My good opinion of French people has not been 
weakened by experience. The bloody scenes of St. 
Domingo and of France, have, within the last few 
years, brought crowds of Frenchmen to this land of 
the exile, and they are to be met with in every 
part of the United States. Wherever they are, I 
have found them accommodating themselves with a 
happy versatility, to the new and painful vicissi- 
tudes they had to encounter ; remembering and 
loving the land of their birth, but at the same time 
doing justice to the land which gave them refuge. 
They are never heard uttering degrading compari- 
sons between their country and ours; nor signalizing 
their patriotism, either by sneering at the land they 
have honoured with their residence, or outdoing a 
native-born demagogue in clamorous declamation, 
at the poll of an election. Poor as many of them 
are, iu consequence of the revolutions of property in 
their native country, they never become beggars. 
Those who have no money turn the accomplish- 
ments of gentlemen into the means of obtaining 
bread, and become the instruments of lasting benefit 
to our people. Others who have saved something 
from the wreck, either establish useful manufactures, 
or retire into the villages, where they embellish 
society, and pass quietly on to the grave. 

In their amusements, or in their hours of relaxa- 
tion, we never find them outraging the decencies 
of society by exhibitions of beastly drunkenness, or 
breaking its peace by ferocious and bloody brawls 
at taverns or in the streets. Their leisure hours are 
passed in a public garden or walk, where you will 
see them discussing matters with a vehemence which, 
in some people, would be the forerunner of blows, 
but which is only an ebullition of a national 
vivacity, which misfortune cannot repress, nor exile 
destroy. Or, if you find them not here, they are at 
6ome little evening assembly, to which they know 
how to communicate a gaiety and interest peculiar 
to French people. Whatever may be their poverty 
at home, they never exhibit it abroad in rags and 
dirtiness, but keep their wants to themselves, and 
give their spirits to others; thus making others 
happy, when they have ceased to be so themselves. 

This subject recalls to my mind the poor Chevalier, 
as we used to call him, who, of all the men I ever 
saw, bore adversity the best. It is now fifteen 
years since I missed him at his accustomed walks — ■ 
where, followed by his little dog, and dressed in his 
long blue surtout, old-fashioned cocked hat, long 
queue, and gold-headed cane, with the ribbon of 
some order at his button-hole, he carried his basket 
of cakes about every day, except Sunday, rain or 
shine. He never asked anybody to buy his cakes, 
nor did he look as if he wished to ask. I never, 
though I used often to watch him, either saw him 
smile, or heard him speak to a living soul ; but year 
after year did he walk or sit in the same place, with 
the same coat, hat, cane, queue, and ribbon, and 
little dog. One day he disappeared ; but whether 
he died, or got permission to go home to France, 
nobody knew, and nobody inquired; for, except the 



little dog, he seemed to have no friend in the wide 

There was another I will recall to your mind, in 
this review of our old acquaintance. The queer 
little man we used to call the little duke, who first 
attracted our notice, I remember, by making his 
appearance in our great public walk, dressed in a 
full suit of white dimity, with a white hat, a little 
white dog, and a little switch in his hand. Here, 
of a sunny day, the little duke would ramble about 
with the lofty air of a man of clear estate, or lean 
against a tree, and scrutinize the ladies as they 
passed, with the recognizance of a thorough-bred 
connoisseur. Sometimes he would go to the circus — 
that is to say, you would see him lying most 
luxuriously over a fence just opposite, where, as the 
windows were open in the summer, he could hear 
the music, and see the shadow of the horses on the 
opposite wall, without its costing him a farthing. 

In this way he lived, until the Corporation pulled 
down a small wooden building in the yard of what 
was then the government-house, when the duke and 
his dog scampered out of it like two rats. He had 
lived here upon a little bed of radishes ; but now he 
and his dog were obliged to dissolve partnership, 
for his master could no longer support him. The 
dog I never saw again ; but the poor duke gradually 
descended into the vale of poverty. His white 
dimity could not last for ever, and he gradually 
went to seed, and withered like a 6tately onion. In 
fine, he was obliged to work, and that ruined him — ■ 
for nature had made him a gentleman. — And a gen- 
tleman is the caput mortuum of human nature, out 
of which you can make nothing, under heaven — but 
a gentleman. He first carried wild game about to 
sell ; but this business not answering, he bought him- 
self a buck and saw, and became a redoubtable 
sawyer. But he could not get over his old propen- 
sity — and whenever a lady passed where he was at 
work, the little man was always observed to stop 
his saw, lean his knee on the stick of wood, and 
gaze at her till she was quite out of sight. Thus, 
like Antony, he sacrificed the world for a woman 
— for he soon lost all employment — he was always 
so long about his work. The last time I saw him 
he was equipped in the genuine livery of poverty, 
leaning against a tree on the Battery, and admiring 
the ladies. 

The last of the trio of Frenchmen, which erst 
attracted our boyish notice, was art old man, who 
had once been a naval officer, and had a claim of 
some kind or other, with which he went to Wash- 
ington every session, and took the field against Amy 
Hardin's horse. Congress had granted him some- 
where about rive thousand, which he used to affirm 
was recognising the justice of the whole claim. The 
money produced him an interest of three hundred 
and fifty dollars a year, which he divided into three 
parts. One-third for his board, clothing, &c. ; one 
for his pleasures, and one for the expenses of his 
journey to the seat of government. He travelled in 
the most economical style — eating bread and cheese 
by the way ; and once was near running a fel- 
low-passenger through the body, for asking him 
to eat dinner with him, and it should cost him no- 
thing. He alwnys dressed neatly — and sometimes 
of a remarkably fine day would equip himself in 
uniform, gird on his trusty and rusty sword, and 
wait upon his excellency the governor. There was 
an eccentric sort of chivalry about him, for he used 
to insult every member of Congress who voted 
against his claim ; never put up with a slight of 
any kind from anybody, and never was known to 
do a mean action, or to run in debt. There was a 
deal of dignity, too, in his appearance and deport- 

ment, though of the same eccentric east, so that 
whenever he walked the streets he attracted a kind 
of notice not quite amounting to admiration, and 
not altogether free from merriment. Peace to his 
claim and his ashes; for he and Amy Dardin'a 
horse alike have run their race, and their claims 
have survived them. 


In analysing the character of "Washington, there 
is nothing that strikes me as more admirable than 
its beautiful symmetry. In this respect it is con- 
summate. His different qualities were so nicely 
balanced, so rarely associated, of such harmonious 
affinities, that no one seemed to interfere with ano- 
ther, or predominate over the whole. The natural 
ardour of his disposition was steadily restrained by 
a power of self-command which it dared not disobey. 
His caution never degenerated into timidity, nor 
his courage into imprudence or temerity. His me- 
mory was accompanied by a sound, unerring judg- 
ment, which turned its acquisitions to the best 
advantage; his industry and economy of time neither 
rendered him dull or uusocial ; his dignity never 
was vitiated by pride or harshness, and his uncon- 
querable firmness was free from obstinacy, or self- 
willed arrogance. He was gigantic, but at the 
same time he was well-proportioned and beautiful. 
It was this symmetry of parts that diminished the 
apparent magnitude of the whole ; as in those fine 
specimens of Grecian architecture, where the size of 
the temple seems lessened by its perfection. There 
are plenty of men who become distinguished by the 
predominance of one single faculty, or the exercise 
of a solitary virtue ; but few, very few, present to 
our contemplation such a combination of virtues 
unalloyed by a single vice; such a succession of 
actions, botli public and private, in which even his 
enemies can find nothing to blame. 

Assuredly he Btands almost alone in the world. 
He occupies a region where there are, unhappily 
for mankind, but few inhabitants. The Grecian 
biographer could easily find parallels for Alexander 
and Cfesar, but were he living now, he would meet 
with great difficulty in selecting one for Washington. 
There seems to be an elevation of moral excellence, 
which, though possible to attain to, few ever ap- 
proach. As in ascending the lofty peaks of the 
Andes, we at lergth arrive at a line where vegeta- 
tion ceases, and the piinciple of life seems extinct; 
so in the gradations of human character, there is an 
elevation which is never attained by mortal man. 
A few have approached it, and none nearer than 

He is eminently conspicuous as one of the great 
benefactors of the human race, for he not only gave 
liberty to millions, but his name now stands, and 
will for ever stand, a noble ex.-imple to high and 
low. He is a great work of the almighty Artist, 
which none can study without receiving purer ideas 
and more lofty conceptions of the grace and beauty 
of the human character. He is one that all may 
copy at different distances, and whom none can con- 
template without receiving lasting and salutary 
impressions of the sterling value, the inexpressible 
beauty of piety integrity, courage, and patriotism, 
associated with a clear, vigorous, and well-poised 

Pure, and widely disseminated as is the fame of 
this great and good man, it is yet in its infancy. It 
is every day taking deeper root in the hearts of his 
countrymen, and the estimation of strangers, and 
spreading its branches wider and wider, to the air 
and the skies. He is already become the saint of 
liberty, which has gathered new honours by being 


associated with his name ; and when men aspire to 
free nations, they must take him for their model. 
It is, then, not without ample re ison that the suf- 
frages of mankind have combined to place Wash- 
ington at the head of his race. If we estimate him 
by the examples recorded in history, he stands with- 
out a parallel in the virtues he exhibited, and the 
vast, unprecedented consequences resulting from 
their exercise. The whole world was the theatre 
of his actions, and all mankind are destined to par- 
take sooner or later in their results. He is a hero 
of a new species : he had no model ; will he have 
any imitators? Time, which bears the thousands 
and thousands of common cut-throats to the ocean 
of oblivion, only adds new lustre to his fame, new 
force to his example, and new strength to the re- 
verential affection of all good men. What a glorious 
fame is his, to be acquired without guilt, and en- 
joyed without envy ; to be cherished by millions 
living, hundreds of millions yet uilborn ! Let the 
children of my country prove themselves worthy 
of his virtues, his labours, and his sacrifices, by 
reverencing his name and imitating his piety, in- 
tegrity, industry, fortitude, patience, forbearance, 
and patriotism. So shall they become fitted to 
enjoy the blessings of freedom and the bounties 
of heaven. 


Everybody, young and old, children and grey- 
"beards, has heard of the renowned Haroun Al Ras- 
chid, the hqro of Eastern history and Eastern romance, 
and the most illustrious of the caliphs of Bagdad, 
that famous city on which the light of learning and 
science shone, long ere it dawned on the benighted 
regions of Europe, which has since succeeded to the 
diadem that once glittered on the brow of Asia. 
Though as the successor of the Prophet he exercised 
a despotic sway over the lives and fortunes of his 
subjects, yet did he not. like the eastern despots of 
more modern times, shut himself up within the 
walls of his palace, hearing nothing but the adula- 
tion of his dependents; seeing nothing but the sha- 
dows which surrounded him; and knowing nothing 
but what he receive! through the medium of inte- 
rested deception or malignant falsehood. That he 
might see with his own eyes and hear with his own 
ears, he was accustomed to go about through tlie 
streets of Bagdad by night, in disguise, accompanied 
by Giafer the Barmecide, his grand vizier, and 
Mesrour, his executioner; one to give him his coun- 
sel, the other to fulfil his commands promptly, on all 
occasions. If he saw any commotion among the 
people he mixed with them and learned its cause ; 
and if in passing a house he heard the moanings of 
distress or the complaints of suffering, he entered, 
for the purpose of administering relief. Thus he 
made himself acquainted with the condition of his 
subjects, and often heard those salutary truths which 
never reached his ears through the walls of his pa- 
lace, or from the lips of the slaves that surrounded 

On one of these occasions, as Al Rasehid was thus 
perambulating the streets at night, in disguise, ac- 
companied by his vizier and his executioner, in pass- 
ing a splendid mansion, he overheard through the 
lattice of a window, the complaints of some one who 
seemed in the deepest distress, and silently ap- 
proaching, looked into an apartment exhibiting all 
the signs of wealth and luxury. On a sofa of 
satin embroidered with gold, and sparkling with 
brilliant gems, he beheld a man richly dressed, in 
whom he recognised his favorite boon companion 

Bedreddin, on whom he had showered wealth and 
honors with more than eastern prodigality. He was 
stretched out on the sofa, slappiug his forehead, 
tearing his beard, and moaning piteously, as if in the 
extremity of suffering. At length starting up on his 
feet, he exclaimed in tones of despair, "Oh, Allah! 
I beseech thee to relieve me from my misery, and 
take away my life." 

The Commander of the Faithful, who loved Bed- 
reddin, pitied his sorrows, and being desirous to 
know their cause, that he might relieve them, 
knocked at the door, which was opened by a black 
slave, who, on being informed that they were 
strangers in want of food and rest, at once admitted 
them, and informed his master, who called them into 
his presence, and bade them welcome. A plentiful 
feast was spread before them, at which the master 
of the house sat down with his guests, but of which 
he did not partake, but looked on, sighing bitterly 
all the while. 

The Commander of the Faithful at length ventured 
to ask him what caused his distress, and why he re- 
frained from partaking in the feast with his guests, 
in proof that they were welcome. " Has Allah 
afflicted thee with disease, that thou canst not enjoy 
the blessings he has bestowed? Thou art surround- 
ed by all the splendor that wealth can procure ; thy 
dwelling is a palace, and its apartments are adorned 
with all the luxuries which captivate the eye, or 
administer to the gratification of the senses. Why 
is it then, oh ! my brother, that thou art mise- 
rable ?" 

" True, stranger," replied Bedreddin. " I have 
all these. I have health of body ; I am rich enough 
to purchase all that wealth can bestow, and if I re- 
quired more wealth and honors, I am the favorite 
companion of the Commander of the Faithful, on 
whose head lie the blessing of Allah, and of whom I 
have only to ask, to obtain all I desire, save one 
thing only." 

" And what is that ?" asked the caliph. 

" Alas! I adore the beautiful Zulcima, whose face 
is like the full moon, whose e}'es are brighter and 
softer than those of the gazelle, and whose mouth 
is like the seal of Solomon. But she loves another, 
and all my wealth and honors are as nothing. The 
want of one thing renders the possession of every 
other of no value. I am the most wretched of men ; 
my life is a burden, and my death would be a bless- 

" By the beard of the Prophet," cried the Caliph, 
" I swear thy case is a hard one. But Allah is great 
and powerful, and will, I trust, either deliver thee 
from thy burden or give thee strength to bear it." 
Then thanking Bedreddin for his hospitality, the 
Commander of the Faithful departed, with his com- 

Taking their way towards that part of the city 
inhabited by the poorer classes of people, the Caliph 
stumbled over something, in the obscurity of night, 
and was nigh falling to the ground ; at the same 
moment a voice cried out, " Allah, preserve me ! 
Am I not wretched enough already, that I must 
be trodden under foot bv a wandering beggar like 
myself, in the darkness of night !" 

Mezrour the executioner, indignant at this insult 
to the Commander of the Faithful, was preparing to 
cut off his head, when Al Rasehid interposed, anil 
inquired of the beggar his name, and why he was 
there sleeping in the streets, at that hour of the 

" Mashallah," replied he, " I sleep in the street 
because I have nowhere else to sleep, and if I lie on 
a satin sofa my pains and infirmities would rob me 
of rest. Whether on divans of silk or in the dirt, 



all one to me, for neither by day nor by night do I 
know any rest. If I close my eyes for a moment, 
my dreams are of nothing but feasting, and I awalce 
only to feel more bitterly the pangs of hunger and 

" Hast thou no home to shelter thee, no friends 
or kindred to relieve thy necessities, or administer to 
thy infirmities ?" 

" No," replied the beggar ; " my house was con- 
sumed by fire ; my kindred are all dead, and my 
friends have deserted me. Alas! stranger, I am in 
want of everything: health, food, clothing, home, 
kindred, and friends. I am the most wretched 
of mankind, and death alone can relieve me." 

" Of one thing, at least, I can relieve thee," said 
the Caliph, giving him his purse. " Go and provide 
thyself food and shelter, and may Allah restore thy 

The beggar took the purse, but instead of calling 
down blessings on the head of his benefactor ex- 
claimed, " Of what use is money ; it cannot cure dis- 
ease ?" and the Caliph again went on his way with 
Giafer his vizier, and Mezrour his executioner. 

Passing from the abodes of want nnd misery, they 
at length reached a splendid palace, and seeing 
lights glimmering from the windows, the caliph ap- 
proached, and looking through the silken curtains, 
beheld a man walking backwards and forwards, 
with languid step, as if oppressed with a load of 
cares. At length casting himself down on a sofa, he 
stretched out his limbs, and j'awning desperately, 
exclaimed, " Oh ! Allah, what shall I do ; what will 
become of me ! I am weary of life ; it is nothing 
but a cheat, promising what it never purposes, and 
affording only hopes that end in disappointment, or, 
if realized, only in disgust." 

The curiosity of the Caliph being awakened to 
know the cause of his despair, he ordered Mezrour 
to knock at the door, which being opened, they 
pleaded the privilege of strangers to enter, for rest 
and refreshments. Again, in accordance with the 
precepts of the Koran, and the customs of the East, 
the strangers were admitted to the presence of the 
lord of the palace, who received them with welcome, 
and directed refreshments to be brought. But 
though he treated his guests with kindness, he nei- 
ther sat down with them nor asked any questions, 
nor joined in their discourse, walking back and forth 
languidly, and seeming oppressed with a heavy bur- 
den of sorrows. 

At length the Caliph approached him reverently, 
and said : " Thou seemest sorrowful, my brother ! 
If thy suffering is of the body I am a physician, and 
perad venture can afford thee relief ; for I have tra- 
velled into distant lands, and collected very choice 
remedies for human infirmity." 

" My sufferings are not of the body, but of the 
mind," answered the other. 

" Hast thou lost the beloved of thy heart, the 
friend of thy bosom, or been disappointed in the at- 
tainment of that on which thou hast rested all thy 
hopes of happiness?" 

" Alas ! no. I have been disappointed not in the 
means, but in the attainment of happiness. I want 
nothing but a want. I am cursed with the grati- 
fication of all my wishes, and the fruition of all my 
hopes. I have wasted my life in the acquisition of 
riches, that only awakened new desires, and honors 
that no longer gratify my pride or repay me for the 
labor of sustaining them. I have been cheated in 
the pursuit of pleasures that weary me in the enjoy- 
ment, and am perishing for lack of the excitement 
of some new want. I have everything I wish, yet 
enjoy nothing." 

" Thy case is beyond my 6kill," replied the Caliph ; 

and the man cursed with the fruition of all his de- 
sires turned his back on him in despair. The Caliph, 
after thanking him for his hospitality, departed with 
his companions, and when they had reached the 
street exclaimed — 

" Allah preserve me ! I will no longer fatigue 
myself in a vain pursuit, for it is impossible to confer 
happiness on such a perverse generation. I see it is 
all the same, whether a man wants one thing, every- 
thing, or nothing. Let us go home and sleep." 


Joseph Story was born at Marblehead, Mass., 
September 18, 1779. He was the eldest of eleven 
sons of Dr. Elisha Story, an active Whig of the 
Revolution, who was of the " Boston Tea Party," 
and served in the army during a portion of the 
war as a surgeon. He was a boy of an active 
mind, and when only a few years old delighted in 
visiting the barber's shop of the town to listen to 
the gossip about public affairs. He was a great 
favorite with his handsome florid face and long 
auburn ringlets, and would frequently sit upon 
the table to recite pieces from memory and make 
prayers for the amusement of the company. 
During his childhood he was saved from being 
burnt to death by his mother, who snatched him 
from his blazing bed at the cost of severe per- 
sonal injury to herself. He was prepared for col- 
lege in his native village, and entered Harvard in 
1795. Dr. Channing was one of his classmates. 
He was a hard student during his collegiate 
course, and on its termination entered the office 
of Samuel Sewall, in Marblehead. He completed 
his studies at Salem, where he commenced prac- 
tice. In 1 804 he published The Power of Solitude, 
a poem in two. parts, with a few fugitive verses 
appended. The author was at a subsequent 
period a merciless critic on his own performance, 
burning all the copies he could lay his hands upon. 
It is written in the ornate style of the time, 

with some incongruities which do not lead the 
reader to regret that the writer " took a lawyer's 
farewell of the muse." He published the same 
year a Selection of Pleadings in Civil Actions, 



and near its close married Miss Mary Lynde 
Oliver, who died on the 22d of June following. 
In 1808, lie was married to Miss Sarah Waldo 

Story's rise in his profession was rapid, and in 
1810 he was appointed by Madison, Associate 
Justice of the Supreme Court. He accepted the 
office at a pecuniary sacrifice of his professional 
income exceeding the official salary of $3500 a 
year, some two thousand dollars. In 1827, he 
prepared an edition in three volumes of the Laws 
of the United States. In 1829, the Hon. Nathan 
Dane offered the sum of $10,000 to Harvard 
College, as the foundation of a law professorship, 
on the condition that his friend Story should con- 
sent to become its first professor. Story having 
as a friend of the college and of legal science 
accepted the appointment, delivered an inaugura- 
tion Address on the Value and Importance of the 
Study of Law, which is regarded as one of his 
finest productions. 

His instructions were of course delivered during 
the vacations of the Supreme Court. His bio- 
grapher gives' a pleasant picture of the interest 
taken by teacher and pupil in the subject matter 
before them. 

For the benefit of the students he sold to the 
college his library at one half its value. 

During the preparation of the Encyelopaadia 
Americana by his friend Dr. Lieber, Justice 
Story contributed a number of articles on legal 
subjects, forming some hundred and twenty pages 
of the work. He was also a large contributor to 
the American Jurist. 

In 1832, he published his Commentaries on the 
Constitution in three volumes, and in the follow- 
ing spring the Abridgment of the work, which is 
in general use throughout the country as a college 
text-book. The Commentaries were received 
"with universal favor at home and abroad, where 
they were translated into French and German. 

In 1834-, he published his Commentaries on the 
Conflict of Laws. In 1835, a selection from his 
Miscellaneous Writings. In 1836, the first volume 
of 1 lis Commentaries upon Equity Jurisprudence, 
and in 1846, a work on Promissory Notes. 

To these we must add the comprehensive 
reference to his miscellaneous writings made by 
his son. 

When Ave review liis public life, the amount of 
labor accomplished by him seems enormous. Its 
mere recapitulation is sufficient to appal an ordi- 
nary mind. The judgments delivered by him on his 
Circuits, comprehend thirteen volumes. The Re- 
ports of the Supreme Court during his judicial life 
occupy thirty-five volumes, of which he wrote a full 
share. His various treatises on legal subjects cover 
thirteen volumes, besides a volume of Pleadings. 
He edited and annotated three different treatises, 
with copious notes, and published a volume of Poems. 
He delivered and published eight discourses on lite- 
rary ami scientific subjects, before different societies. 
He wrote biographical sketches of ten of his con- 
temporaries ; six elaborate reviews for the North 
American ; three long and learned memorials to 
Congress. He delivered many elaborate speeches in 
the Legislature of Massachusetts and the Congress 
ol the United States. He also drew up many other 
papers of importance, among which are the argu- 
ment before Harvard College, on the subject of the 
Fellows of the University ; the Reports on Codifica- 

tion, and on the salaries of the Judiciary ; several 
very important Acts of Congress, such as the Crimes 
Act, the Judiciary Act, the Bankrupt Act, besides 
many other smaller matters. 

In quantity, all other authors in the English Law, 
and Judges, must yield to him the palm. The labors 
of Coke, Eldon, and Mansfield, among Judges, are 
not to be compared to his in amount. And no jurist, 
in the Common Law, can be measured with him, in 
extent and variety of labor. 

'In 1845, he determined to resign his judicial 
office and devote his entire attention to his 
favorite law school, which had prospered greatly 
under his care. It was his wish, however, before 
doing so to dispose of all the cases argued before 
him, and it was in consequence of the severe 
labor he imposed upon himself in the heat of sum- 
mer to accomplish this object, that he became so 
utterly exhausted that his physical frame could 
offer slight resistance to the attacks of disease. 
In September, 1845, he was engaged in writing 
out the last of these opinions when he was taken 
with a cold followed by stricture, and the stop- 
page of the intestinal canal. He was relieved 
from this attack after great suffering for many 
hours, but his powers were too enfeebled to rally, 
and he sank into a torpor, "breathed the name of 
God, the la»t word that ever was heard from his 
lips," and a few hours after, on the evening of 
the tenth of September, died. 

Every honor was paid his memory. Shops 
were closed and business suspended in Cambridge 
on the day of his funeral, which in accordance with 
his wishes was conducted in a simple manner, and 
a sum of money was soon after raised at the sug- 
gestion of the Trustees of Mount Auburn where he 
was buried, for the purpose of placing his statue 
in the chapel of that cemetery. The commission 
for the work was intrusted to the son of the 
deceased, Mr. William W. Story, who has since 
published in two large octavo volumes the "Life 
and Letters" of his distinguished father, and has 
thus contributed by the exercise of two of the 
most permanent in effect of human instruments, 
the pen and the chisel, to the perpetuation and 
extension of his fame. 

Judge Story was an active student throughout 
life. It was his practice to keep interleaved 
copies of his works near at hand, and to add on 
the blank pages any decisions or information 
bearing upon their subject. The personal habits 
of one who accomplished so much were neces- 
sarily simple and temperate, but the detail may 
be read with interest as recorded by his son. 

He arose at seven in summer, and at half past 
seven in winter, — never earlier. If breakfast was 
not ready, he went at once to his library and 
occupied the interval, whether it was five minutes 
or fifty, in writing. When the family assembled he 
was called, and breakfasted with them. After 
breakfast he sat in. the drawing-room, and spent 
from a half to three quarters of an hour in reading 
the newspapers of the day. He then returned to 
his study and wrote until the bell sounded for his 
lecture at the Law School. After lecturing for two 
and sometimes three hours, he returned to his 
study and worked until two o'clock, when he was 
called to dinner. To his dinner (which, on his part, 
was always simple), he gave an hour, and then 
again betook himself to his study, where in the win- 
ter time he worked as long as the daylight lasted. 



unless called away by a visitor or obliged to attend 
a moot-court. Then lie came down and joined the 
family, and work for the day was over. Tea came 
in about seven o'clock ; and how lively and gay was 
lie then, chatting over the most familiar topics of the 
day, or entering into deeper currents of conversa- 
tion with equal ease. All of his law he left up 
stairs in the library ; he was here the domestic man 
in his home. During the evening he received his 
friends, and he was rarely without company ; but if 
alone, he read some new publication of the day, — 
the reviews, a novel, an English newspaper; some- 
times corrected a proof-sheet, listened to music, or 
talked with the family, or, what was very common, 
played a game of backgammon with my mother. 
This was the only game of the kind that he liked. 
Cards and chess he never played. 

In the summer afternoons he left his library 
towards twilight, and might always be seen by the 
passer-by sitting with his family under the portico, 
talking or reading some light pamphlet or news- 
paper, often surrounded by friends, and making the 
air ring with his gay laugh. This, with the interval 
occupied by tea, would last until nine o'clock. 
Generally, also, the summer afternoon was varied 
three or four times a week, in fair weather, by a 
drive with my mother of about an hour through the 
surrounding country in an open chaise. At about 
ten or half past ten he retired for the night, never 
varying a half hour from this time. 

Story retained his early fondness for poetry 
throughout life, and sometimes amused his leisure 
moments even when on the bench by versifying 
" any casual thought suggested to him by the 
arguments of counsel." A lew specimens of these 
rhymed reflections are given by his soli. 

It was my father's habit, while sitting on the 
Bench, to versify any casual thought suggested to 
him by the arguments of counsel, and in his note 
books of points and citations, several pages are 
generally devoted to memoranda in prose and verse, 
of facts, and thoughts, which interested him. 
In his memorandum-book of arguments before the 
Supreme Court in 1831 and 1832, I select the fol- 
lowing fragments written on the fly-leaf: — 

You wish the Court to hear, and listen too ? 
Then speak with point, be brief, be close, be true. 
Cite. well your cases ; let them be in point ; 
Not learned rubbish, dark, and out of joint; — 
And be your reasoning clear, and closely made, 
Free from false taste, and verbiage, and parade. 

Stuff not your speech with every sort of law, 
Give us the grain, and throw away the straw. 

Books should be read ; but if you can't digest, 
The same's the surfeit, take the worst or best. 

Clear heads,' sound hearts, full minds, with point 

may speak, 
All else how poor in fact, in law how weak. 

AVho 's a great lawyer ? He, who aims to 6ay 
The least his cause requires, not all he may. 

Greatness ne'er grew from soils of spongy mould, 
All on" the surface dry ; beneath all cold ; 
The generous plant from rich and deep must rise, 
And gather vigor, as it seeks the skies. 

"Whoe'er in law desires to win his cause, 

Must speak with point, not measure out " wise saws," 

Must make his learning apt, his reasoning clear. 
Pregnant in matter, but in style severe; 
But never drawl, nor spin the thread so fine, 
That all becomes an evanescent line. 

The following sketch was drawn at this time on 
the Bench, and apparently from life : — 

With just enough of learning to confuse, — 

With just enough of temper to abuse, — 

With just enough of genius, when contest, 

To urge the worst of passions for the best, — 

With just enough of all that wins in life, 

To make us hate a nature formed for strife, — 

With just enough of vanity and spite, 

To turn to all that's wrong from all that's right, — 

Who would not curse the hour when first he saw 

Just such a man, called learned in the law. 

The legal writings of Judge Story from his own 
pen extend to thirteen volumes ; the Reports of 
his decisions on Circuits to thirteen; and those of 
the Supreme Court while he occupied a seat on 
the Bench and contributed his full share to their 
contents, to thirty-five. 

The style of Story, both in his Commentaries 
and in his Miscellanies, is that of the scholar and 
man of general reading, as well as the thoroughly 
practised lawyer. It is full, inclined to the rhe- 
torical, but displays everywhere the results of 
laborious investigation and calm reflection. His 
law books have fairly brought what in the old 
volumes was considered a crabbed science to the 
appreciation and sympathy of the unprofessional 
reader. Chancellor Kent, on the receipt of his 
Miscellaneous Works in 1836, complimented the 
author on "the variety, exuberance, comprehen- 
siveness, and depth of his moral, legal, and political 
wisdom. Every page and ordinary topic is 
replete with a copious and accurate display of prin- 
ciples, clothed in a powerful and eloquent style, 
and illustrated and recommended by striking 
analogies, and profuse and brilliant illustrations. 
You handle the topic of the mechanical arts, and 
. the science on which they are founded, enlarged, 
adorned, and applied, with a mastery, skill, and 
eloquence, that is unequalled. As for jurispru- 
dence, you have again and again, and on all occa- 
sions, laid bare its foundations, traced its histories, 
eulogized its noblest masters, and pressed its 
inestimable importance with a gravity, zeal, 
pathos, and beauty, that is altogether irresisti- • 
ble."* This was generously said, and though the 
language of eulogy, it points out with great dis- 
tinctness the peculiar merits which gave the 
writings of Story their high reputation at home 
and abroad. 


It is a pleasing moral coincidence which has been 
remarked that two of the foremost names in our 
national literature and art should be associated 
with that of the great leader, in war and peace, 
of their country. 

Washington Allston, the descendant of a family 
of much distinction in South Carolina, was born 
at Charleston, November 5, 1779. He was pre- 
pared for college at the school of Mr. Robert 
Rogers, of Newport, R. I. ; entered Harvard in 

* Story's Life, ii. 21" 



1796, and on the completion of his course deli- 
vered a poem. 

He returned to South Carolina ; sold his pro- 
pert}' ; sailed for England, and on his arrival in 
London became a student of the Royal Academy, 
then under the presidency of Benjamin West. 
Here he remained for three years, and then, after 
a sojourn at Paris, went to Rome, where he re- 
sided for four years, and became the intimate 
associate of Coleridge. 

In 1809 he returned to America for a period 
of two years, which he passed in Boston, and at 
this time married the sister of the Rev. Dr. Ch'an- 
ning. He also delivered a poem before the Phi 
Beta Kappa Society. In 1811 he commenced a 
second residence in London, where, in 1813, ho 
published a small volume, The Sylphs of the Sea- 
sons, and other Poems, which was reprinted in 
Boston the same year. The date is also marked 
in his career by the death of his wife, an event 
which affected him deeply. 

During this sojourn in Europe, which extended 
to 1818, several of his finest paintings were pro- 
duced. On his return home he resumed his resi- 
dence at Boston. In 1830 he married a sister of 
Richard II. Dana, and removed to Oambridgeport. 
His lectures oil Art were commenced about the 
same period. It was his intention to prepare a 
course of sis, to be delivered before a select au- 
dience in Boston, hut four only were completed, 
and these did not appear until after his decease. 

In 1841 he published Monaldi, an Italian ro- 
mance of moderate length, which had been writ- 
ten as early as 1821 when Dana published his 
Idle Man, and, but for the discontinuance of that 
work, would probably have appeared there. 
In the latter part of his life he was chiefly 
engaged on his great painting of Belshazzar's 
Feast. After a week's steady labor on this 
work, he retired late on Saturday night, July 8, 
18+3, from his studio to his family circle, and 
after a conversation of peculiar solemnity, sat 
down to his books and papers, which furnished 
the usual occupation of a great portion of his 

nights. It was thus, sitting alone about midnight, 
near the dawning of Sunday, with scarce a strug- 
gle, he was called from the temporary repose of 
the holy day to the perpetual Sabbath of eternity. 
His remains were interred at the setting of the 
sun on the day of the funeral, in the tomb of the 
Dana family in the old Cambridge graveyard. 

Had Mr. Allston been a less severe critic of his 
own productions he would have both painted 
more and written more. Nothing left his easel 
or his desk which was not the ripe product of 
his mind, which had cost not only labor but per- 
plexity, from the frequent change to which his 
fastidiousness submitted all his productions. His 
Belshazzar's Feast, as it hangs in its incomplete 
state in the Boston Athenrcum, shows a strange 
and grotesque combination of figures, of gigantic 
mingled with those of ordinary stature. It is 
owing to the artist's determination, when his 
work was nearly completed, to reconstruct the 
whole, and by the radical change we have men- 
tioned, as well as others of composition, render 
his months of former labor null and void. Had 
his life been extended the work no doubt would 
have been completed, and have created the same 
feelings of awe and admiration which some of its 
single figures, that of the Queen for example, 
now excite ; but as it stands, it is perhaps a 
more characteristic as well as impressive monu- 
ment of the man. 

. With the exception of this work, Mr. Allston's 
productions are all complete. 

In the Spring of 1839, Allston exhibited, with 
remarkable success, a gallery of his paintings at 
Boston. They were forty-five; brought together 
from various private and other sources. A letter 
was published at the time in the New York 
Evening Post, noticing the collection, which was 
understood to be written from Dana to his friend 
Bryant. It speaks of " the variety and contrast, 
not only in the subjects and thoughts, and emo- 
tions made visible, but in the style also," and 
finds in the apparent diversity " the related va- 
riety of one mind." Several of the more promi- 
nent subjects, and the influence breathing from 
them, are thus alluded to : — " Here, under the 
pain and confused sense of returning life lay the 
man who, when the bones of the prophet touched 
him, lived again. Directly opposite sat, witli the 
beautiful and patiently expecting Baruch at his 
feet, the majestic announcer of the coming woes 
of Jerusalem, seeing through earthly things, as 
seeing them not, and looking off into the world 
of spirits and the vision of God. What sees he 
there? Wait! For the vision is closing, and he 
is about to speak! And there is Beatrice, ab- 
sorbed in meditation, touched gently with sadness, 
and stealing so upon your heart, that curiosity is 
lost in sympathy — you forget to ask yourself what 
her thought? and look in silence till you become 
the very soul of meditation too. And Rosalie, 
born of music, her face yet tremulous with the 
last vibrations of those sweet sounds to which 
her inmost nature had been responding. What 
shall I say of the spiritual depth of those eyes? 
You look into them till you find yourself com- 
muning with her inmost life, with emotions beau- 
tiful, exquisite, almost to pain. Indeed, when 
you recollect yourself, you experience this effect 
to be true of nearly all these pictures, whether of 



living beings or of nature. After a little while I 
you do not so much look upon them as commune 
witK them, until you recover yourself, and are 
made aware that you had been lost in them. 
Herein is the spirit of art, the creative power — 
poetry. And the landscapes — spots in nature, fit 
dwelling-places for beings such as these !" 

His poems, though few in number, are exqui- 
site in finish, and in the fancies and thoughts 
which they embody. They are delicate, subtle, : 
and philosophical. Thought and feeling are united 
in them, and the meditative eye 

which hath kept watch 
o'er man's mortality 

broods over all. In The Sylphs of the Seasons he 
has pictured the successive delights of each quarter 
of the year with the joint sensibility of the poet 
and the artist, bringing before us a series of 
images of the imagination blended with the purest 

If the other poems may be described as occa- 
sional, it should be remarked they are the occa- 
sions not of a trirler or a man of the world, but 
of a philosopher and a Christian, whose powers 
were devoted to the sacred duties of life, to his 
art, to his friends, to the inner world of faith. In 
this view rather than as exercises of poetic rhe- 
toric, they are to be studied. One of the briefer 
poems has a peculiar interest, that entitled Ro- 
salie. It is the very reflection in verse of the 
ideal portrait which he painted, bearing that name. 

His lectures on Art, published after his de- 
cease, in the volume edited by R. II. Dana, Jr., 
show the vigorous grasp, the intense love, the 
keen perception which we should naturally look 
for froi n such a master. 

Monaldi is an Italian story of jealousy, murder, 
and madness. Monaldi issuspiciousof his wife, kills 
her in revenge, and becomes a maniac. The work 
is entirely of a subjective character, dealing with 
thought, emotion, and passion, with a concentra- 
tion and energy for which we are accustomed to 
look only to the greatest dramatists. The chief 
scene of the volume is the self-torturing jealousy 
of Monaldi, contrasted with the innocent calm- 
ness of his wife. We read it with shortened 
breath and a sense of wonder. Not less powerfully 
does the author carve out, as it were, in statuary, 
the preliminary events by which this noble heart 
falls from its steadfast truth-worshipping loyalty. 
We see the gradual process of disaffection, from 
the first rude physical health of the soul, when it 
is incapable of fear or suspicion, rejecting the 
poison of envy; then gradually admitting the 
idea as if some unconscious act of memory, a 
haunting reminiscence, then recurring wilfully to 
the thought, till poison becomes the food of the 
mind, and it lives on baleful jealousies, wrongs, 
and revenges: the high intellectual nature, so 
difficult to reach, but the height once scaled, how 
flauntingly they bear the banner of disloyalty ; 
Monaldi, like Othello, then spurns all bounds; 
like Othello, wronged and innocent. 

Those who had the privilege of a friendship or 
even an acquaintance with Allston, speak with 
enthusiasm of his conversational powers. He ex- 
celled not only in the matter but the manner of 
his speech. His fine eye, noble countenance, and 
graceful gesture were all unconsciously brought 

into play as he warmed with his subject, and 
he would hold his hearer by the hour as 6x- 
edly with a disquisition on morals as by a series 
of wild tales of Italian banditti. Allston gave his 
best to his friends as well as to the public, and 
some of his choicest literary composition is doubt- 
less contained in the correspondence he main- 
tained for many years with Coleridge, Words- 
worth, Southey, Lamb, and others among the 
best men of his, and of all time. 

In an enumeration of the published works of 
Mr. Allston, the volume of outline engravings 
from the sketches found in his studio after his de- 
cease should be especially commemorated, for it 
contains some of his most beautiful as well as 
most sublime conceptions ; and as nearly all his 
paintings, with the exception of the Belshazzar, are 
the property of private individuals, forms almost 
the only opportunity accessible to the general 
public for the enjoyment of his artistic produc- 
tions. His manner may there be learnt in its 
precision, strength, grandeur, and beauty. 

Of the moral harmony of Allston's daily life, 
we have been kindly favored with a picture, filled 
with incident, warm, genial, and thoroughly ap- 
preciative, from the pen, we had almost said the 
pencil, of the artist's early friend in Italy, Wash- 
ington Irving. It is taken from a happy period 
of his life, and our readers will thank the author 
for the reminiscence : — . 

" I first became acquainted," writes Washing- 
ton Irving to us, "with Washington Allston, early 
in the spring of 1805. He had just arrived from 
Prance, I from Sicily and Naples. I was then 
not quite twenty-two years of age — he a little 
older. There was something, to me, inexpressi- 
bly engaging in the appearance and manners of 
Allston. I do not think I have ever been more 
completely captivated on a first acquaintance. 
He was of a light and graceful form, with large 
blue eyes and black silken hair, waving and 
curling round a pale expressive countenance. 
Everything about him bespoke the man of intel- 
lect and refinement. His conversation was copious, 
animated, and highly graphic ; warmed by a ge- 
nial sensibility and benevolence, and enlivened 
at times by a chaste and gentle humor. A young 
man's intimacy took place immediately between 
us, and we were much together during my brief 
sojourn at Rome. He was taking a general view 
of the place before settling himself down to his 
professional studies. We visited together some 
of the finest collections of paintings, and he 
taught me how to visit them to the most advan- 
tage, guiding me always to the masterpieces, and 
passing by the others without notice. ' Never 
attempt to enjoy every picture in a great collec- 
tion,' he would say, ' unless you have a year to 
bestow upon it. You may as well attempt to en- 
joy every dish in a Lord Mayor's feast. Both 
mind and palate get confounded by a great va- 
riety and rapid succession, even of delicacies. 
The mind can only take in a certain number of 
images* and impressions distinctly ; by multiply- 
ing the number you weaken each, and render the 
whole confused and vague. Study the choice 
pieces in each collection ; look upon none else, 
and you will afterwards find them hanging up in 
your memory.' 

" He was exquisitely sensible to the graceful 



ail the beautiful, and took great delight in paint- 
ings which excelled in color; yet he was strongly 
moved and roused by objects of grandeur. I well 
recollect the admiration with which he contem- 
plated the sublime statue of Moses by Michael 
Angelo, and his mute awe and reverence on en- 
tering the stupendous pile of St. Peter's. Indeed 
the sentiment of veneration so characteristic of 
the elevated and poetic mind was continually ma- 
nifested by him. His eyes would dilate; his pale 
countenance would Hush ; he would breathe 
quick, and almost gasp in expressing his feelings 
when excited by any object of grandeur and sub- 

" We had delightful rambles together about 
Rome and its environs, one of which came near 
changing my whole course of life. We had been 
visiting a stately villa, with its gallery of paint- 
ings, its marble halls, its terraced gardens set out 
with statues and fountains, and were returning to 
Rome about sunset. The blandness of the air, the 
serenity of the sky, the transparent purity of the 
atmosphere, and that nameless charm which 
hangs about an Italian landscape, had derived ad- 
ditional effect from being enjoyed in company 
with Allston, and pointed out by him with the 
enthusiasm of an artist. As I listened to him, 
and gazed upon the landscape, I drew in my 
mind a contrast between our different pursuits 
and prospects. He was to reside among these 
delightful scenes, surrounded by masterpieces of 
art, by classic and historic monuments, by men of 
congenial minds and tastes, engaged like him in 
the constant study of the sublime and beautiful. 
I was to return home to the dry study of the law, 
for which I had no relish, and, as I feared, but 
little talent. 

, " Suddenly the thought presented itself, ' Why 
might I not remain here, and turn painter?' I 
had taken lessons in drawing before leaving Ame- 

' rica, and had been thought to have some aptness, 
as I certainly had a strong inclination for it. I 
mentioned the idea to Allston, and he caught at it 
with eagerness. Nothing could be more feasible. 
We would take an apartment together. He would 
give me all the instruction and assistance in his 
power, and was sure I would succeed. 

" For two or three days the idea took full pos- 
session of my mind; but I believe it owed its 
main force to the lovely evening ramble in which 
I first conceived it, and to the romantic friendship 
I had formed with Allston. Whenever it recurred 
to mind, it was always connected with beautiful 
Italian scenery, palaces, and statues, and fonn- 

■ tains, and terraced gardens, and Allston as the 
companion of my studio. I promised myself a 
world of enjoyment in his society, and in the so- 
ciety of several artists with whom he had made 
me acquainted, and pictured forth a scheme 
of life, all tinted with the rainbow hues of youth- 
ful promise. 

" My lot in life, however, was differently cast. 
Doubts and fears gradually clouded over my pros- 
pect; the rainbow tints faded away ; I began to 
apprehend a sterile reality, so I gave up the tran- 
sient but delightful prospect of remaining in 
Rome with Allston, and turning painter. 

"My next meeting with Allston was in Ame- 
rica, after he had finished his studies in Italy ; 
but as we resided in different cities we saw each 

other only occasionally. Our intimacy was closer 
some years afterwards, when we were both in 
England. I then saw a great deal of him (luring 
my visits to London, where he and Leslie resided 
together. Allston was dejected in spirits from 
the loss of his wife, but I thought a dash of me- 
lancholy had increased the amiable and winning 
graces of his character. I used to pass long 
evenings with him and Leslie ; indeed Allston, if 
any one would keep him company, would sit up 
until cock-crowing, and it was hard to break 
away from the charms of his conversation. He 
was an admirable story teller, for a ghost story 
none could surpass him. He acted the story as 
well as told it. 

"I have seen some anecdotes of him in the 
public papers, which represent him in a state of 
indigence and almost despair, until rescued by 
the sale of one of his paintings.* This is an ex- 
aggeration. I subjoin an extract or two from his 
letters to me, relating to his most important pic- 
tures. The first, dated May 9, 1817, was ad- 
dressed to me at Liverpool, where he supposed I 
was about to embark for the United States : — 

"Your sudden resolution of embarking for Ame- 
rica has quite thrown me, to use a sea phrase, all 
aback. I have so many things to tell you of, to con- 
sult, you about, (fee., and am such a sad correspon- 
dent, that before 1 can bring my pen to do its office, 
'tis a hundred to one but the vexations for which 
your advice would be wished, will have passed ami 
gone. One of these subjects (and the most impor- 
tant) is the large picture I talked of soon beginning: 
the Prophet Daniel interpreting the hand-writing on 
the wall before Belshazzar. I have made a highly 
finished sketch of it, and I wished much to have 
your remarks on it. But as your sudden departure 
will deprive me of this advantage, I must beg, 
should any hints on the subject occur to you during 
your voyage, that you will favor me with them, at 
the same time you let me know that you are again 
safe in our good country. 

"I think the composition the best I ever made. 
It contains a multitude of figures and (if I may be 
allowed to say it) they are without confusion. 
Don't you think it a fine subject? I know not any 
that so happily unites the magnificent and the aw- 
ful. A mighty sovereign surrounded by his whole 
court, intoxicated witli his own state, in the midst 
of his revellings, palsied in a moment under the 
spell of a preternatural hand suddenly tracing his 
doom on the wall before him ; his powerless limbs, 
like a wounded spider's, shrunk up to his body, 
while liis heart, compressed to a point, is only kept 
from vanishing by the terrific suspense that animates 
it during the interpretation of his mysterious sen- 
tence. His less guilty but scarcely less agitated 
queen, the panic-struck courtiers and concubines, 
the splendid and deserted banquet table, the half 
arrogant, half astounded magicians, the holy vessels 
of the temple (shining as it were in triumph through 
the gloom), nnd the calm solemn contrast of the pro- 
phet, standing like an animated pillar in the midst, 
breathing forth the oracular destruction of the em- 
pire! The picture will be twelve feet high by 
seventeen feet long. Should I succeed in it to my 
wishes, I know not what may be its fate ; but I 
leave the future to Providence. Perhaps I may 
send it to America. 

" The next letter from Allston which remains in 
# Anecdotes of Artists. 



my possession, is dated London, 13th March, 
1818. In the interim lie had visited Paris, in 
company with Leslie and Newton ; the following 
extract gives the result of the excitement caused 
by a study of the masterpieces in the Louvre. 

" Since my return from Paris I have painted two 
pictures, in order to have something in the present 
exhibition at the British gallery; the subjects, the 
Angel Uriel in the Sun, and Elijah in the Wilder- 
ness., Uriel was immediately purchased (at the 
price I asked, 150 guineas) by the Marquis of Staf- 
ford, and the Directors of the British Institution 
moreover presented me a donation of a hundred and 
fifty pounds ' as a mark of their approbation of the 
talent evinced,' <fcc. The manner in which this was 
done was highly complimentary; and I can only 
say that it was full as gratifying as it was unex- 
pected. As both these pictures together cost me 
but ten weeks, I do not regret having deducted that 
time from the Belshazzar, to whom I have since re- 
turned with redoubled vigour. I am sorry I did not 
exhibit Jacob's Dream. If I had dreamt of this suc- 
cess I certainly would have sent it there. 

" Leslie, in a letter to me, speaks of the picture 
of Uriel seated in the Sun. ' The figure is colos- 
sal, the attitude and air very noble, and the form 
heroic, without being overcharged. In the color 
he has been equally successful, and with a very 
rich and glowing tone he has avoided positive 
colours, which would have made him too mate- 
rial. There is neither red, blue, nor yellow on 
the picture, and yet it possesses a harmony equal 
to the best pictures of Paul Veronese.' 

"The picture made what is called 'a decided 
hit,' and produced a great sensation, being pro- 
nounced worthy of the old masters. Attention 
was immediately called to the artist. The Earl 
of Egremont, a great connoisseur and patron of 
the arts, sought him in his studio, eager for any 
production from his pencil. He found an admi- 
rable picture there, of which he became the glad 
possessor. The following is an extract from Al- 
ston's letter to me on the subject: — 

" Leslie tells me he has informed you of the sale of 
Jacob's Dream. I do not remember if you have seen 
it. The manner in which Lord Egremont bought it 
was particularly gratifying — to say nothing of the 
price, which is no trifle to me at present, But 
Leslie having told you all about it I will not repeat 
it. Indeed, by the account he gives me of his letter 
to you, he seems to have puffed me off in grand 
style. Well — you know I don't bribe him to do it. 
and ' if they will buckle praise upon my back,' 
why, I can't help it ! Leslie has just finished a very 
beautiful little picture of Anne Page 1 inviting Master 
Slender into the house. Anne is exquisite, soft and 
feminine, yet arch and playful. She is all she should 
be. Slender also is very happy ; he is a good pa- 
rody on Milton's ' linked sweetness long drawn out.' 
Falstaff and Shallow are seen through a window in 
the background. The whole scene is very pictu- 
resque, and beautifully painted. 'Tis his best pic- 
ture. You must not think this praise the 'return in 
kind.' I give it, because I really admire the pic- 
ture, and I have not the smallest doubt that he will 
do great things when he is once freed from the ne- 
cessity of painting portraits.* 

" Lord Egremont was equally well pleased with 

* This picture was lately exhibited in the " Washington 
Gallery " in New York. 

the artist as with his works, and invited him to 
his noble seat at Petworth, where it was his de- 
light to dispense his hospitalities to men of 

"The road to fame and fortune was now open 
to Allston ; he had but to remain in England, and 
follow up the signal impression he had made. 

" Unfortunately, previous to this recent success 
lie had been disheartened by domestic affliction, 
and by the uncertainty of his pecuniary pros- 
pects, and had made arrangements to return to 
to America. I arrived in London a few days be- 
fore his departure, full of literary scheme*, and 
delighted with the idea of our pursuing our seve- 
ral arts in fellowship. It was a sad blow to me 
to have this day-dream again dispelled. I urged 
him to remain and complete his grand painting 
of Belshazzar's Feast, the study of which gave pro- 
mise of the highest kind of excellence. Some of the 
best patrons of the art were equally urgent. He 
was not to be persuaded, and I saw him depart 
with still deeper and more painful regret than I 
had parted with him in our youthful days at 
Rome. I think our separation was a loss to both 
of us — to me a grievous one. The companion- 
ship of such a man was invaluable. For his own 
part, had he remained in England for a few years 
longer, surrounded by everything to encourage 
and stimulate him, I have no doubt he would 
have been at the head of his art. He appeared 
to me to possess more than any contemporary the 
spirit of the old masters ; and his merits were 
becoming widely appreciated. After his de- 
parture he was unanimously elected a member of 
the Royal Academy. 

" The next time I saw him was twelve years 
afterwards, on my return to America, when I 
visited him at his studio at Cambridge, in Massa- 
chusetts, and found him, in the grey evening of 
life, apparently much retired from the world ; 
and his grand picture of Belshazzar's Feast yet 

" To the last he appeared to retain all those ele- 
vated, refined, and gentle qualities which first en- 
deared him to me. 

" Such are a few particulars of my intimacy 
with Allston ; a man whose memory I hold in re- 
verence and affection, as one of the purest, no- 
blest, and most intellectual beings that ever 
honored me with his friendship." 


All hail! thou noble land, 

Our Fathers' native soil ! 
0, stretch thy mighty hand. 

Gigantic grown by toil, 
O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore ! 
For thou with magic might 

Canst reach to where the light 
Of Phoebus travels bright 

The world o'er ! 

The Genius of our clime, 

From his pine-embattled steep, 
Shall hail the guest sublime ; 
While the Tritons of the deep 
With their concha the kindred league shall proclaim. 
Then let the world combine, — 
O'er the main our naval line 
Like the milky-way shall shine 
Bright in fame ! 



Though ages long hare past 

Since our Fathers left their home. 
Their pilot in the blast. 

O'er untravelled seas to roam, 
Yet lives the blood of England in our veinsl 
And shall we not proclaim 
That blood of honest fame 
Which no tyranny can tame 
By its chains ? 

While the language free and bold 
Which the Bard of Avon sung, 
In which our Milton told 

How the vault of heaven rung 
When Satan, blasted, fell with his host ; — 
While this, with reverence meet, 
Ten thousand echoes greet, 
From rock to rock repeat 
Round our coast ; — 

While the manners, while the arts. 

That mould a nation's soul, 
Still cling around our hearts, — 
Between let Ocean roll. 
Our joint communion breaking with the Sun : 
Yet still from either beach 
The voice of blood shall reach. 
More audible than speech, 
" We are One." * 


And last the Sylph of Winter spake, 
The while her piercing voice did shake 

The castle vaults below : — 
"0 youth, if thou, with soul refined, 
Hast felt the triumph pure of mind, 
And learnt a secret joy to find 

In deepest scenes of woe ; 

" If e'er with fearful ear at eve 
Hast heard the wailing tempests grieve 

Through chink of shattered wall, 
The while it conjured o'er thy brain 
Of wandering ghosts a mournful train, 
That low in fitful sobs complain 

Of death's untimely call ; 

" Or feeling, as the storm increased, 
The love of terror nerve thy breast, 

Didst venture to the coast, 
To see the mighty war-ship leap 
From wave to wave upon the deep, 
Like chamois goat from steep to steep. 

Till low in valley lost ; 

" When, glancing to the angry sky, 
Behold the clouds with fury fly 

The lurid moon athwart — 
Like armies huge in battle, throng, 
And pour in volleying ranks along. 
While piping winds in martial song 

To rushing war exhort : 

" 0, then to me thy heart be given. 
To me, ordained by Him in heaven 

Thy nobler powers to wake. 
And, ! if thou with poet's soul, 
High brooding o'er the frozen pole. 
Hast felt beneath my stern control 
The desert region quake ; 

* Note by the Author.— This alludes merely to the moral 
union of the two countries. The author would not have it sup- 
posed that the tribute of respect, offered in these stanzas to the 
land of his ancestors, would be paid by him, if at the expense 
of the independence of that which gave him birth. 
VOL. II. — 2 

" Or from old Heela's cloudy height, 
When o'er the dismal, half-year's night 

He pours his sulphurous breath, 
Hast known my petrifying wind 
Wild ocean's curling billows bind, 
Like bending sheaves by harvest hind, 
Erect in icy death ; 

" Or heard adown the mountain's steep 
The northern blast with furious sweep 

Some cliff dissevered dash, 
And seen it spring with dreadful bound, 
From rock to rock, to gulf profound, 
While echoes fierce from caves resound 

The never-ending crash : 

" If thus with terror's mighty spell 
Thy soul inspired was wont to swell, 

Thy heaving frame expand, 
0, then to me thy heart incline ; 
For know, the wondrous charm was mine, 
That fear and joy did thus combine 

In magic union bland. 

" Nor think confined my native sphere 
To horrors gaunt, or ghastly fear, 

Or desolation wild ; 
For I of pleasures fair could sing, 
That steal from life its sharpest sting, 
And man have made around it cling, 
Like mother to her child. 

" When thou, beneath the clear blue sky, 
So calm no cloud was seen to fly, 

Hast gazed on snowy plain, 
Where Nature slept so pure and sweet, 
She seemed a corse in winding-sheet, 
Whose happy soul had gone to meet 

The blest Angelic train ; 

"Or marked the sun's declining ray 
In thousand varying colors play 

O'er ice-incrusted heath, 
In gleams of orange now, and green, 
And now in red and azure sheen, 
Like hues on dying dolphin seen, 
Most lovely when in death ; 

" Or seen at dawn of eastern light 
The frosty toil of Fays by night 

On pane of casement clear, 
Where bright the mimic glaciers shine, 
And Alps, with many a mountain pine, 
And armed knights from Palestine 

In winding march appear: 

" 'T was I on each enchanting scene 
The charm bestowed, that banished spleen 

Thy bosom pure and light. 
But still a nobler power I claim, — 
That power allied to poet's fame, 
Which language vain has dared to name, — 
The soul's creative might. 

" Though Autumn grave, and Summer fair, 
And joyous Spring, demand a share 

Of Fancy's hallowed power. 
Yet these I hold of humbler kind, 
To grosser means of earth confined, 
Through mortal sense to reach the mind, 

By mountain, stream, or flower. 

" But mine, of purer nature still, 
Is that which to thy secret will 

Did minister unseen, 
Unfelt, unheard, when every sense 
Did sleep in drowsy indolence. 
And silence deep and night intense 
Enshrouded every scene; 



" That o'er (hy teeming brain did raise 
The spirits of departed days 

Through all the varying year, 
And images of things remote, 
And sounds that long had ceased to float, 
With every hue, and every note, 

As living now they were ; 

" And taught thee from the motley mass 
Each harmonizing past to class 

(Like Nature's self employed) ; 
And then, as worked thy wayward will, 
From these, with rare combining skill, 
With new-created worlds to fill 

Of space the 'mighty void. 

•' 0, then to me thy heart incline; 
To me, whose plastic powers combine 

The harvest of the mind ; 
To me whose magic coffers bear 
The spoils of all the toiling year, 
That still in mental vision wear 

A lustre more refined." 

" O pour upon my soul again 

That sad, unearthly strain, 
That seems from other worlds to plain ; 
Thus falling, falling from afar, 
As if some melancholy star 
Had mingled with her light her sighs, 

And dropped them from the skies! 

" No, — never came from aught below 
This melody of woe, 
That makes my heart to overflow, 
As from a thousand gushing springs, 
Unknown before ; that with it brings 
This nameless light, — if light it be, — 
That veils the world I see. 

" For all I see around me wears 
The hue of other spheres ; 
Ami something blent of smiles and tears 
Comes from the very air I breathe. 
0, nothing, sure, the stars beneath 
Can mould a-sadness like to this,— 
So like angelic bliss." 

So, at that dreamy hour of day 

When the last lingering ray 
Stops on the highest cloud to play, — 
So thought the gentle Rosalie, 
As on her maiden reverie 
First fell the strain of him who stole 

In music to her soul. 


The interior of a Dutch cottage forms the scene of 
Ostade's work, presenting something between a 
kitchen and a stable. Its principal object is the car- 
cass of a hog, newly washed and hung up to dry ; 
subordinate to which is a woman nursing an infant; 
the accessories, various garments, pots, kettles, and 
other culinary utensils. 

The bare enumeration of these coarse materials 
would naturally predispose the mind of one, unac- 
quainted with the Dutch school, to expect any thing 
but pleasure; indifference, not to say disgust, would 
seem to be the only possible impression from a pic- 
ture composed of such ingredients. Ami such, in- 
deed, would be their effect under the hand of any 
but a real Artist. Let us look into the picture and 
follow Ostade's mind, as it leaves its impress on the 
several objects. Observe how he spreads his princi- 
pal light, from the suspended carcass to the surround- 

ing objects, moulding it, so to speak, into agreeable 
shapes, here by extending it to a bit of drapery, there 
to an earthen pot ; then connecting it, by the flash 
from a brass kettle, with his second light, the woman 
and child ; and again turning the eye into the dark 
recesses through a labyrinth of broken chairs, old 
baskets, roosting fowls, and bits of straw, till a 
glimpse of sunshine, from a half-open window, 
gleams on the eye, as it were, like an echo, and 
sending it back to the principal object, which now 
seems to act on the mind as the luminous source of 
all these diverging lights. But the magical whole is 
not yet completed; the mystery of color has been 
called in to the aid of light, and so subtly blends that 
we can hardly separate them ; at least, until their 
united effect has first been felt, and after we have 
begun the process of cold analysis. Yet even then 
we cannot long proceed before we find the charm re- 
turning; as we pass from the blaze of light on the 
carcass, where all the tints of the prism seem to be 
faintly subdued, we are met on its borders by the 
dark harslet, glowing like rubies; then we repose 
awhile on the white cap and kerchief of the nursing 
mother; then we are roused again by the flickering 
strife of the antagonist colors on a blue jacket and 
red petticoat ; then the strife is softened by the low 
yellow of a straw-bottomed chair; and thus with 
alternating excitement and repose do we travel 
through the picture, till the scientific explorer loses 
the analyst in the unresisting passiveness of a poetic 
dream. Now all this will no doubt appear to many 
if not absurd, at least exaggerated : but not so to 
those who have ever felt the sorcery of color. They, 
we are sure, will be the last to question the charac- 
ter of the feeling because of the ingredients which 
worked the spell, and, if true to themselves, they 
must call it poetr} 7 . Nor will they consider it any 
disparagement to the all-accomplished Raffaelle to 
say of (Jstade that he also was an Artist. 

We turn now to a work of the great Italian,— the 
Death of Ananias. The scene is laid in a plain apart- 
ment, which is wholly devoid of ornament, as became 
the hall of audience of the primitive Christians. The 
Apostles (then eleven in number) have assembled to 
transact the temporal business of the Church, and 
are standing together on a slightly elevated plat- 
form, about which, in various attitudes, some stand- 
ing, others kneeling, is gathered a promiscuous as- 
semblage of their new converts, male and female. 
This quiet assembly (for we still feel its .quietness in 
the midst of the awful judgment) is suddenly roused 
by the sudden fall of one of their brethren ; some of 
them turn and see him struggling in the agonies of 
death. A moment before he was in the vigor of life, 
— as his muscular limbs still bear evidence ; but he 
had uttered a falsehood, and an instant after his 
frame is convulsed from head to foot. Nor do we 
doubt for a moment as to the awful cause : it is al- 
most expressed in voice by those nearest to him, and, 
though varied by their different temperaments, by 
terror, astonishment, and submissive faith, this voice 
has yet but one meanii g. — " Ananias has lied to the 
Holy Ghost." The terrible words, as if audible to 
the mind, now direct us to him who pronounced his 
doom, and the singly-raised finger of the Apostle 
marks him the judge; yet not of himself, — for nei- 
ther his attitude, air, nor expression has any thing 
in unison with the impetuous Peter, — he is now the 
simple, passive, yet awful instrument of the Al- 
mighty: while another on the right, with equal 
calmness, though with more severity, by his elevated 
arm, as beckoning to judgment, anticipates the fate 
of the entering Sapphira. Yet all is not done ; lest 
a question remain, the Apostle on the left confirms 
the judgment. No one can mistake what passes 



within him ; like one transfixed in adoration, his up- 
lifted eyes seem to ray out his soul, as if in recogni- 
tion of the divine tribunal. But the overpowering 
thought of Omnipotence is now tempered by the hu- 
man sympathy of his companion, whose open hands, 
connecting the past with the present, seem almost to 
articulate, "Alas, my brother! " By this exquisite 
turn, we are next brought to John, the gentle al- 
moner of the Church, who is dealing out their por- 
tions to the needy brethren. And here, as most 
remote from the judged Ananias, whose suffering 
seems not yet to have reached it, we find a spot of 
repose, — not to pass by, but to linger upon, till we 
feel its quiet influence diffusing itself over the whole 
mind; nay, till, connecting it with the beloved Dis- 
ciple, we And it leading us back through the excit- 
ing scene, modifying even our deepest emotions with 
a kindred tranquillity. 

Tliis is Invention; we have not moved a step 
through the picture but at the will of the Artist. 
He invented the chain which we have followed, link 
by link, through every emotion, assimilating many 
into one ; and this is the secret by which he prepar- 
ed us, without exciting horror, to contemplate the 
struggle of mortal agony. 

This too is Art; and the highest art," when thus 
the awful power, without losing its character, is tem- 
pered, as it were, to our mysterious desires. In the 
work of Ostade, we see the same inventive power, 
no less effective, though acting through the medium 
of the humblest materials. 

Joseph T. Bockinoha.m, one of the most pro- 
minent journalists of New England, is a descend- 
ant of Thomas Tinker, who came to Plymouth in 
the May Flower. His father, Nehemiah Tinker, 
resided at Windham, and ruined himself during 
the Revolutionary War by expending his whole 
property in the purchase of supplies for the army, 
for which he received pay in Continental cur- 
rency, which rapidly depreciated, so that at his 
death, on the 17th of March, 1783, the several 
thousand dollars of paper money which he pos- 
sessed, " would hardly pay for his winding sheet 
and coffin." He left a widow and ten children, 
the youngest of whom, Joseph, was born on the 
twenty-first of December, 1779. The widow en- 
deavored to support the eight children dependent 
upon her by continuing her husband's business 
of tavern-keeping, but was obliged to abandon 
the establishment within a year, on account of ill 
health. She grew poorer and poorer, and her 
son records her thankfulness at receiving, on one 
occasion, the crusts cut from the bread prepared 
for the Holy Communion of the coming Sunday. 
She was at last compelled to solicit the aid of the 
selectmen of the town, and was supported in that 
maimer for a winter. In the following year she 
received and accepted the offer of a home in the 
family of her friends, Mr. and Mrs. Lathrop, at 
Worlhington, Mass. Her son, the subject of this 
sketch, was indentured at the same time by the 
selectmen to a farmer of the name of Welsh, until 
he attained the age of sixteen. lie was kindly 
cared for in the family, and picked up a tolerable 
knowledge of reading, writing, and arithmetic. 
He devoured the few books he came across, and 
records his obligations to a set of Ames's Alma- 
nacs. Jit the expiration of his time he obtained 
a situation in the printing-office of David Carlisle, 
the publisher of the Farmer's Museum, at Wal- 

pole, N.H. The joviality of the wits who filled 
the columns of that famous sheet seems to have 
been shared in by the compositors who set up 
their articles, for they exhausted the poor boy's 
slender stock of cash by a demand for a treat, 
and then nearly choked him by forcing his own 
brandy down his throat. He remained only a 
few months with Carlisle, and then apprenticed 
himself in the office of the Greenfield (Mass.) Ga- 
zette. Here he exercised himself in grammar, by 
comparing the "copy" he had to set up with the 
rules he had learnt, and correcting it if wrong. 
In 17U8 he lost his excellent mother. In 1803 
he deserted the composing-stick for a few months, 
to fill the office of prompter to a company of 
comedians who played during the summer months 
at Salem and Providence. In 1806, having pre- 
viously taken by act of legislature his mother's 
family name of Buckingham, he male his first 

; cs-ay as editor, by commencing a Monthly Maga- 
zine, The Polyanthus. The numbers contained 

j seventy-two pages 18mo., with a portrait, each. 

| It was suspended in September, 1807, and re- 
sumed in 1812, when two volumes of the original 
size and four in octavo appeared. In January, 
1809, he commenced The Ordeal, a weekly, of 
sixteen octavo pages, which lasted six months. 
In 1817, he commenced, with Samuel L. Knapp, 
The New England Galaxy and Masonic Maga- 
zine. It was started without capital by its pro- 
jector, who now had a wife and six children 
dependent on him, and frankly proposed to return 
a dollar and a half out of the three tendered by 
his first subscriber, on the plea that he did not 
believe he should be able to keep up the paper 
more than six months. By the aid of the Masonic 
Lodges it, however, became tolerably successful. 
Like his previous publications, it sided in politics 
with the Federal party. 

In 1S28, Mr. Buckingham sold the Galaxy, in 
order to devote his entire attention to the Boston 
Courier, a daily journal, which he had commenced 
on the second of March, 1824. The prominent 
idea of its founders was the advocacy of the 
" protective system." Mr. Buckingham continued 
to edit the Courier until June, 1848, when he 
sold out his interest. In July, 1831, he com- 
menced with his son Edwin The New England 
Magazine, a monthly of ninety-six pages, and 
one of the best periodicals of its class which ever 
appeared in the United States. The number of 
July, 1833, contains a mention of the death of 
Edwin at sea, on a voyage to Smyrna, undertaken 
for the benefit of health. He was but twenty- 
three years of age. In November, 1834, the 
publication was transferred to Dr. Samuel G. 
Howe and John O. Sargent. 

During the years 1828, 1831-3, 1830, 1838-9, 
Mr. Buckingham was a member of the Legisla- 
ture, and in 1847-8, 1850-1, of the Senate of Mas- 
sachusetts. He introduced a report in favor of 
the suppression of lotteries, and performed other 
valuable services during these periods. 

Since his retirement from the press, Mr. Buck- 
ingham has published, Specimens of Newspaper 
Literature, with Personal Memoirs, Anecdotes, 
and Reminiscences, in two volumes duodecimo, 
which has passed through two editions; and 
Personal Memoirs and Recollections of Editorial 
Life, in two similar volumes. They contain a 



pleasant resume of his career, with notices of 
the many persons with whom, at different periods, 
he has heen connected. 


This eminent critic and philologist, the head of 
a school of Biblical learning in America, was horn 
of honest hut humble parentage in Wilton, Con- ■ 
necticut, March 26, 1780. He entered Yale at j 
sixteen during the Presidency of Dwight, took j 
his degree with the highest honors in 1709, then 
turned his attention to the law, to which he gave 
himself with earnestness, though he never prac- 
tised the profession. From 1802 to 180-1 he was 
tutor at Yale. In 1806, having in the meantime 
pursued the necessary preparation, he was ordained 
Pastor of the Centre Church in New Haven. His 
services at this time are thus spoken of by his 
thoughtful and eloquent friend and eulogist, Dr. 
Adams. " The fervor, fidelity, and success of his 
career as a pastor are still matters of grateful re- 
membrance and distinct tradition. Distinguished 
as is the reputation which he subsequently ac- 
quired as a scholar, there are many who think 
that his best efforts were in the pulpit. The con- 
gregation over which he was ordained, accus- 
tomed for a third of a century to a style of dis- 
course clear, cold, and philosophic, which deserves 
to be designated as ' diplomatic vagueness, 1 were 
startled from indifference by the short, simple, 
perspicuous sentences of their new pastor, and 
more than all by the unaffected earnestness and 
sincerity with which they were delivered."* 

In 1810 Mr. Stuart attained the marked position 
of his life with which he was to be identified du- 
ring the remainder of his career, extending over 
a period of well nigh half a century, in his ap- 
pointment to the Professorship of Sacred Lite- 
rature at the Theological Seminary at Andover, 
which had then recently heen engrafted upon the 
academy founded by the Hon. John Phillips at 
that place. Mr. Stuart succeeded to the brief 
term of instruction of the Eev. Eliphalet Pearson, 
who had been Professor of the Hebrew and Ori- 
ental languages at Harvard from 17S6 to 1806. 
It is noticeable that Stuart was chosen, " not be- 
cause of extraordinary proficiency in Oriental lan- 
guages, for his knowledge of Hebrew was at this 
time very limited. Two years' ] ireparatiqn for the 
ministry, and five years in the diligent prosecution 
of his profession, had not furnished large opportu- 
nities for exact and extensive study. Choice was 
fixed upon him because of the general qualities 
which designated him as one able and willing to 
furnish himself for any station ; and upon that tho- 
rough qualification he entered, with characteristic 
enthusiasm, immediately upon his transfer to this 
new office." 

The learned labors of Stuart began at once in 
his devotion to Hebrew studies, of which he knew 
nothing until after his arrival at Andover. His 
colleague, Dr. Woods, used to relate that he taught 

* A Discnnrse nn the Life and Services of Professor Moses 
Stuart; delivered in the city of New York. Sabbath evening, 
January 25, 1852, by William Adams, Pastor of the Central 
Presbyterian Church; an able and judicious production, which 
we have closely followed as the best authority on the subject. 
It io understood that a Life of Professor Stuart is in preparation 
by his son-in-law, Professor Austin Phelps, of the Andover 
Theological Seminary. 

Stuart the Hebrew alphabet. He prepared at 
first a manuscript grammar of that language, 
which his pupils copied. When the requisite 
Oriental type for its publication was procured 
Stuart found no compositors ready for its use, and 
had to commence the work with his own hands. 
His first Hebrew Grammar, without points, was 
published in 1821. He soon became acquainted 
with the earlier labors of Gesenius, learning the 
German language for that purpose. His later 
Hebrew Grammar, with points, was first published 
in 1831, and rapidly became the text-book in gene- 
ral use for this study.* He also aided the study 
by his Hebrew Chrestomathy. 

Having laid this foundation in the study of the 
rudiments of the language, Stuart next addressed 
himself to the philosophical interpretation of the 
text. In this he brought new life to the old dog- 
matic theology which prevailed at the beginning 
of his career. " Whatever could cast light upon 
the Holy Scriptures, or the languages in which 
they were contained, was to Professor Stuart a 
matter of exuberant delight. Whether it was a 
discussion by Middleton on the Greek article, or 
an essay by Wyttenbach on the mode of studying 
language, or the archfeological researches of Jahn, 
or the journal of an intelligent traveller in the 
Egean, or Lane's book on Egypt, or the explora- 
tions of the French in the valley of the Nile,f or 
a Greek chorus, or a discovery of an inscription 
in Arabia Petrea, or exhumations in Nineveh — 
anything, from whatever source, which explained 
a difficult verse in the Bible, or illustrated an an- 
cient custom of God's peculiar people, or led to a 
better comprehension of the three languages in 
which the name of our Lord was written upon his 
cross — all was hailed by this Christian student 
with unbounded satisfaction.''! The application 
of his principles is thus characterized by the same 
pen. " After all the discriminations of Morus and 
Ernesti, republished by Professor Stuart, if I 
should undertake to condense his principles and 
practice concerning Biblical exegesis, aside from 
all technical phraseology, I should characterize it 
by common sense. Admit the distinctions as to 
literal and tropical language which are recognised 
in the ordinary conversation of ordinary men, and 
those modifications of language which are derived 
from local customs and use, and then let Scripture 
interpret Scripture. Compare spiritual things 
with spiritual, and let the obvions meaning of the 
Sacred AYritings thus compared, be received as the 

With this exercise of the understanding, Stuart 
united the judgment of the heart, the verdict of a 
simple, earnest, spiritual faith, which reposed on 
the authority of the Bible. To this his learning 

* Br. Adams records with just pride "the fourth edition of 
that Grammar was republished in England by Dr. Pusey, Re- 
gius Professor of Hebrew in the University of Oxford; and no 
small praise is it that a self-taught Professor in a Theological 
Seminary in a rural district of New England, should furnish 
text-books in oriental philology to the English universities, 
with their hereditary wealth of learned treasure and lordly pro- 
visions for literary leisure. The Hebrew Chrestomathy of 
Professor Stuart was reprinted in like manner at Oxford soon 
after its appearance. The Hebrew Grammar by Dr. Lee, of 
Cambridge University, England, did not appear till six years 
after the publication of Mr. Stuart's first edition." 

t Greppo's E-ssay on Champollion was translated in his fa- 

± Dr. Adams's Discourse, pp. 29, SO. 

§ Ibid. pp. SI, 32. 



and argument were subsidiary. He showed how 
German learning might be employed and scrip- 
tural authority maintained. This was his service 
to the theology of his day and denomination. 
" The great merit,'" says an accomplished Oriental 
scholar, Mr. W. W. Turner, " of Professor Stuart, 
and one for which the gratitude and respect of 
American scholars must ever be his due, lie- in the 
zeal and ability he has exhibited for a long series 
of years in bringing to the notice of the English- 
reading public the works of many of the soundest 
phi li >logi sts and most enlightened ai id unprej udi ced 
theologians of Germany ; for to his exertions it is 
in a good degree owing that the names of Rosen- 
miiller, Gesenius, Ewald, De Wette, Hnpfield, 
Rodiger, Knobel, Hitzig, and other-:, are now fa- 
miliar as household words to the present race of 
biblical students in this country, and to some ex- 
tent in England."* 

In 1827 appeared his Commentary on the Epis- 
tle to the Hebrews, vindicating the authenticity of 
the work, giving a new translation with full notes 
on the text, and an elucidation of the argument. 
This was followed in 1832 by a Commentary on 
the Epiitle to the Romans, in which the same 
philological course is pursued. Other commen- 
taries followed in due course, provoking more or 
less of criticism, on the Apocalypse, the Book of 
Daniel, of Ecolesiastes, of Proverbs, the last of 
which he had just completed at the time of his 

Another series of works of Professor Stuart 
were his numerous articles in the periodicals, 
chiefly the Biblical Repository and Bibliotheca 
Sacra, as also his controversial writings, his Let- 
ters to Charming and others, of which he pub- 
lished a collection in a volume of Miscellanies in 

One of his last productions, which excited much 
interest and some opposition at the time in New 
England, was his defence of the policy of Daniel 
Webster in his Essay on Conscience and the Con- 
stitution, an assertion of the principle of obedi- 
ence to the Compromise act. 

Stuart diedat Andover, January 4, 1852. That 
he was industrious and energetic the bare enu- 
mera'ion of his works declares; but he also car- 
ried his enthusiasm of labor into the exercises with 
his classes, upon whom he impressed a hearty 
sympathy for his studies and his manner of pur- 
suing them. Death found him at the age of se- 
venty-two still active, still meditating new critical 
and learned labors in the inexhaustible field of 
biblical investigation. 

A daughter of Dr. Stuart, Mrs. Elizabeth 
Phelps, the wife of Professor Austin Phelps of 
Andover, attained distinction in a popular field of 
literature by her felicitous sketches of New Eng- 
land society, in a series of tales by H. Tf usta, an 
anagram of her maiden name. They are entitled 
The Angel occr the Right Shoulder ; Sunny Side; 
Peep at Number Fire (a picture of clerical life) ; 
Kitty Brown; Little Mary, or Talks and Tales 
for Children, and The Tell Tale; or Home Se- 
crets told by Old Travellers. The last was pub- 
lished in 1853, shortly after the death of the 
. author. These tales have a well deserved popu- 

* Literary World, No. 228. 

larity from their spirited style, and the life and 
character which they humorously portray. 


Was born at Newport, Rhode Island, April 7, 
1780. He was in the fourth generation from John 
Charming, who came to America from Dorset- 
shire, in England. His father was William Chan- 
ning, a man of education, and distinguished as a 
lawyer in Newport ; his grandfather on the mo- 
ther's side was William Ellery, the signer of the 
Declaration. He has in one of his writings, the 
Discourse on Christian Worship, at the Dedica- 
tion of the Unitarian Congregational Church at 
Newport in 1836, paid a tribute to the genial 
influences of his birth-place upon his youth. " I 
must bless God," said he, " for the place of my 
nativity ; for as my mind unfolded, I became 
more and more alive to the beautiful scenery 
which now attracts strangers to our island. My 
first liberty was used in roaming over the neigh- 
bouring fields and shores; and amid this glorious 
nature, that love of liberty sprang up, which has 
gained strength within me to this hour. I early 
received impressions of the great and the beauti- 
ful, which I believe have had no small influence 
in determining my model of thought and habits 
of life. In this town I pursued for a time my 
studies of theology. I had no professor or teacher 
to guide me ; but I had two noble places of study. 
One was yonder beautiful edifice,* now so fre- 
quented and so useful as a public library, then so 
deserted that I spent day after day, and sometimes 
week after week, amidst its dusty volumes, with- 
out interruption from a single visitor. The other 
place was yonder beach, the roar of which has so 
often mingled with the worship of this place, my 
daily resort, dear to me in the sunshine, still more 
attractive in the storm. Seldom do I visit it now 
without thinking of the work, which there, in the 
sight of that beauty, in the sound of these waves, 
was carried on in my soul. No spot on earth has 
helped to form me so much as that beach. There 
I lifted up my voice in praise amidst the tempest; 
there, softened by beauty, I poured out my 
thanksgiving and contrite confessions. There, in 
reverential sympathy with the mighty power 
around me, I became conscious of power within. 
There, struggling thoughts and emotions broke 
forth, as if moved to utterance by nature's elo- 
quence of the winds and waves. There began a 
happiness surpassing all worldly pleasures, all 
gifts of fortune, the happiness of communing 
with the works of God. Pardon me this refer- 
ence to myself. I believe that the worship, of 
which I have this day spoken, was aided in my 
own soul by the scenes in which my early life 
was passed. Amidst these scenes, and in speak- 
ing of this worship, allow me to thank God that 
this beautiful island was the place of my birth." 
He completed his education at Harvard with the 
highest honors in 1798. He then engaged for a 
while as tutor to a family in Virginia, where his 
health became permanently enfeebled. He was 
ordained pastor of the Federal Street Church, 
Boston, June 1, 1803 ; visited Europe subse- 

* The Eedwood Library. 



quently, and on his return continued alone in his 
charge till 1824. 

From that time for the remainder of his life 
lie was connected with the same church, discharg- 
ing its duties as his strength permitted ; with- 
drawing, towards the close of his career, to strict 
retirement, husbanding his delicate health for his 
numerous literary efforts. In these he always 
exercised an important influence, and through 
them was as well known in England as in Ame- 
rica. The collection of his works embraces six 
volumes, the larger portion of which is devoted 
to his theology, as a leader of the Unitarians. 
His Moral Argument against Calvinism ap- 
peared in the Christian Disciple for 1820. The 
first of his writings which brought him into the 
general field of literature, his Remarks on the 
Character and Writings of John Milton, was 
published in the Christian Examiner for 1826, 
followed by his articles on Bonaparte, during the 
next two years, in the same journal, and the 
winning article on Fenelon in 1829. The force, 
directness, and literary elegance of these papers 
attracted great attention, and the more from the 
bold challenge to popular discussion which was 
thrown out in his uncompromising estimate of 
Napoleon. Apart from his influence as a religious 
leader, he had now gained the ear of the public at 
large — an authority which he availed himself of 
to act upon the moral sentiment of the nation, 
which he addressed in his publications on Slavery, 
War, Temperance, and Education. His address 
on Self Culture, delivered at Boston in 1S38, has 
been one of the most successful tracts of its kind 
ever published. Its direct appeal to whatever of 
character or manliness there may be in the young 
is almost irresistible. This is the prevailing trait 
of Channing's style, its single, moral energy. 
The titles of his publications indicate the man 
and his method. A general subject, as War, Tem- 
perance, Slavery, is proposed simply by itself, 
disconnected with any temporary associations or 
accidents of place that might limit it by condi- 

tions, and argued simply, clearly, forcibly on its 
own merits, according to the universal standard 
of truth and justice. Channing pushes at once to 
the centre of his subject, like a man who has 
business at the court of truth, and is not to be set 
aside by guards or courtiers. He has the ear of 
this royal mistress, and speaks from ner side as 
with the voice of an oracle. Nothing can turn 
him "aside from the direct forthright." How- 
ever deficient this course might be for the practical 
statesmanlike conduct of the world, and its cir- 
cuitous progress to great ends, it< influence on 
the mind of his own day, particularly on the 
young, is not to be questioned. Channing's 
moral vigor seemed to put new life into his 
readers. Notwithstanding the delicacy of his 
constitution, he appeared in public from time to 
time to within a short period of his death. His 
aspect was of great feebleness ; small in person 
and fragile to excess, apparently contrasting with 
the vigor of his doctrines, but the well developed 
forehead, the full eye, the purity of expression, 
and the calm musical tone showed the concentra- 
tion within. His oratory always charmed his 
audience, as in his winning tones he gained to 
his side the pride and powers of his hearers. 

The last public effort of Channing was his ad- 
dress at Lenox, in Berkshire County, Mass., on 
the 1st of August, 1842, the anniversary of Eman- 
cipation in the West Indies. ' It shows no diminu- 
tion of the acuteness of his mind or of his rare 
powers of expression. 

Shortly after this time, while pursuing a moun- 
tain excursion, he was taken with tj'phus fever, 
and died at Bennington, Vermont, October 2, 


Military talent, even of the highest order, is far 
from holding the first place amo.g intellectual en- 
dowments. It is one of the lower forms of genius; 
for it is not conversant with the highest and richest 
objects of thought. We grant that a mind, which 
takes in a wide country at a glance, and understands, 
almost by intuition, the positions it affords for a 
successful campaign, is a comprehensive and vigorous 
one. The general, who disposes his forces so as to 
counteract a greater force ; who supplies by skill, 
science, and invention, the want of numbers; who 
dives into the counsels of his enemy, and who gives 
unity, energy, and success to a vast variety of opera- 
tions, in the midst of casualties and obstructions 
which no wisdom could foresee, manifests great 
power. But still the chief work of a geneial is to 
apply physical force ; to remove physical obstruc- 
tions; to avail himself of physical aids and advan- 
tages ; to act on matter ; to overcome rivers, ram- 
parts, mountains, and human muscles; and these are 
not the highest objects of mind, nor do they demand 
intelligence of the highest oider; and accordingly 
nothing is more common than to fii d men. eminent 
in this department, who aie wanting in the noblest 
energies of the soul; in habit; ot profound and 
liberal thinking, in imagination and ta-te, in the ca- 
pacity of enjoying works of genius, and in large and 
original views of human nature and society. The 
office of a great general docs not differ widely from 
that of a great mechanician, whose business it is to 
frame new combinations of physical forces, to adapt 
them to new circumstances, and to remove new ob- 
structions. Accordingly great generals, away from 
the camp, are often no greater men than the meeha- 



nieian taken from his workshop. In conversation 
they are often dull. Deep and refined reasonings 
they cannot comprehend. We know that there are 
splendid exceptions. Such was Cesar, lit once the 
greatest soldier and the most sagacious statesman of 
his age, whilst in eloquence and literature, he left 
behind liini almost all, who had devoted themselves 
exclusively to these pursuits. But such eases are 
rare. The conqueror of Napoleon, the hero of Wa- 
terloo, possesses undoubtedly great military talents; 
but we do not understand, that his most partial ad- 
mirers claim for him a place in the highest class of 
minds. We will not godown for illustration to such 
men as Nelson, a man great on the deck, but debased 
by gross vices, and who never pretended to enlarge- 
ment of intellect. To institute a comparison in 
point of talent and genius between such men and 
Milton, Bacon, and Shakespeare, is almost an insult 
on these illustrious names. Who can think of these 
truly great intelligences ; of the range of their minds 
through heaven and earth ; of their deep intuition 
into the soul; of their new and glowing combina- 
tions of thought ; of the energy with which they 
grasped, and subjected to their main purpose, the 
infinite materials of illustration which nature and 
life afford, — who can think of the forms of transcen- 
dent beauty and grandeur which they created, or 
which were rather emanations of their own minds ; 
of the calm wisdom and fervid imagination which 
they conjoined ; of the voice of power, in which 
" though dead, they still speak," and awaken intel- 
lect, sensibility, and genius in both hemispheres, — 
who can think of such men, and not feel the immense 
inferiority of the most gifted warrior, whose ele- 
ments of thought are physical forces and physical 
obstructions, and whose employment is the combi- 
nation of the lowest class of objects on which a 
powerful mind can be employed. 


The truth is, that religion, justly viewed, surpasses 
all otiier principles, in giving a free and mauiVold 
action to the mind. It recognises in every faculty 
and sentiment the workmanship of God, and assigns 
a sphere of agency to eaeh. It takes our whole 
nature under its guardianship, and with a parental 
love ministers to its inferior as well as higher grati- 
fications. False religion mutilates the soul, sees evil 
in our innocent sensibilities, and rules with a tyrant's 
frown and rod. True religion is a mild and lawful 
sovereign, governing to protect, to give strength, to 
unfold all our inward resources. We believe, that, 
under its influence, literature is to pa-ss its present 
limits, and to put itself forth in original forms of 
composition. Religion is of all principles most 
fruitful, multiform, and unconfined. It is sympathy 
with that Being, who seems to delight in diversify- 
ing the modes of his agency, and the products of his 
wisdom and power. It does not chain us to a few 
essential duties, or express itself in a few unchang- 
ing modes of writing. It lias the liberality and mu- 
nificence of nature, which not only produces the 
necessary root and grain, but pours forth fruits and 
flowers. It has the variety and bold contrasts of 
nature, which, at the foot of the awful mountain, 
scoops out the freshest, sweetest valleys, and embo- 
soms, in the wild, troubled ocean, islands, whose 
vernal airs, and loveliness, and teeming fruitful- 
ness, almost breathe the joys of Paradise. Reli- 
gion will accomplish for literature what it most 
needs ; that is, will give it depth, at the same time 
that it heightens its grace and beauty. The union 
of these attributes is most to be desired. Our lite- 
rature is lamentably superficial, and to some the 
beautiful and the superficial even seem to be natu- 

rally conjoined. Let not beauty be so wronged. It 
resides chiefly in profound thoughts and feelings. 
It overflows chiefly in the writings of poets, gifted 
with a sublime and piercing vision. A beautiful 
literature springs from the depth and fulness of in- 
tellectual and moral life, from an energy of thought 
and feeling, to which nothing, as we believe, minis- 
ters so largely as enlightened religion. 

So far from a monotonous solemnity overspreading 
literature in consequence of the all-pervading influ- 
ence of religion, we believe that the sportive and 
comic forms of composition, instead of being aban- 
doned, will only be refined and improved. We 
know that these are suppose'! to be frowned upon 
by piety; but they have their root in the constitu- 
tion which God has given us, and ought not there- 
fore to be indiscriminately condemned. The pro- 
pensity to wit and laughter does indeed, through 
excessive indulgence, often issue in a character of 
heartless levity, low mimicry, or unfeeling ridicule. 
It often seeks gratification in regions of impurity, 
throws a gaiety round vice, and sometimes even 
pours contempt on virtue. But, though often and 
mournfully perverted, it is still a gift of God, and 
may and ought to minister, not only to innocent 
pleasure, but to the intellect and the heart. Man 
was made for relaxation as truly as for labor; and 
by a law of his nature, which has not received the 
attention it deserves, lie finds perhaps no relaxation 
so restorative, as that in which he reverts to his 
childhood, seems -to forget his wisdom, leaves the 
imagination to exhilarate itself by sportive inven- 
tions, talks of amusing incongruities in conduct and 
events, smiles at the innocent eccentricities and odd 
mistakes of those whom he most esteems, allows 
himself in arch allusions or kind-hearted satire, and 
transports himself into a world of ludicrous combi- 
nations. We have said, that, on these occasions, the 
mind seems to put off its wisdom; but the truth is, 
that, in a pure mind, wisdom retreats, if we may so 
say, to its centre, and there, unseen, keeps guard 
over this transient folly, draws delicate lines which 
are never to be passed in the freest moments, and, 
like a judicious parent, watching the sports of child- 
hood, preserves a stainless innocence of soul in the 
very exuberance of gaiety. This combination of 
moral power with wit and humor, witli comic con- 
ceptions and irrepressible laughter, this union of 
mirth and virtue, belongs to an advanced stage of 
the character ; and we believe, that, in proportion 
to the diffusion of an enlightened religion, this action 
of the mind will increase, and will overflow in com- 
positions, which, joining innocence to sportiveness, 
will communicate unmixed delight. Religion is not 
at variance with occasional mirth. In the same 
character, the solemn thought and the sublime emo- 
tions of the improved Christian, may be joined with 
the unanxious freedom, buoyancy, and "gaiety of 
early years. 

We will add but one more illustration of our 
views. We believe, that the union of religion with 
genius will favor that species of composition to 
which it may seem at first to be least propitious. 
We refer to that department of literature, which 
has for its object the delineation of the stronger and 
more terrible and guilty passions. Strange as it 
may appear, these gloomy and appalling features of 
our nature may be best comprehended and portrayed 
by the purest and noblest minds. The common idea 
is, that overwhelming emotions, the more they are 
experienced, can the more effectually be described. 
We have one strong presumption against this doc- 
trine. Tradition leads us to believe, that Shake 
speare, though h'e painted so faithfully and fearfully 
the storms of passion, was a calm and cheerful man. 



The passions are too engrossed by their objects to 
meditate on themselves ; and none are more igno- 
rant of their growth and subtile workings, than 
their own victims. Nothing reveals to us the secrets 
of our own souls like religion ; and in disclosing to 
us, in ourselves, the tendency of passion to absorb 
every energy, and to spread its hues over every 
thought, it gives us a key to all souls ; for, in all, 
human nature is essentially one, having the same 
spiritual elements, and the same grand features. So 
man, it is believed, understands the wild and irregu- 
lar motions of the mind, like him in whom a princi- 
ple of divine order has begun to establish peace. 
No man knows the horror of thick darkness which 
gathers over the slaves of vehement passion, like 
him who is rising into the light and liberty of virtue. 
There is indeed a selfish shrewdness, which is thought 
to give a peculiar and deep insight into human na- 
ture. But the knowledge, of which it boasts, is I 
partial, distorted, and vulgar, and wholly unfit for j 
the purposes of literature. We value it little. "We | 
believe, that no qualification avails so much to a 
knowledge of human nature in all its forms, in its 
good and evil manifestations, as that enlightened, 
celestial charity, which religion alone inspires ; for 
this establishes sympathies between us and all men, 
and thus makes them intelligible to us. A man, i 
imbued with this spirit, alone contemplates vice as it 
really exists, and as it ought always to be described. 
In the most depraved fellow-beings lie sees partakers 
of his own nature. Amidst the terrible ravnges of 
the passions, he sees conscience, though prostrate, 
not destroyed, nor wholly powerless. He sees the 
proofs of an unextinguished moral life, in inward 
struggles, in occasional relentings, insighings for lost 
innocence, in reviving throbs of early affections, in 
the sophistry by which the guilty mind would be- 
come reconciled to itself, in remorse, in anxious fore- 
bodings, in despair, perhaps in studied recklessness 
and cherished self-forgetfulness. These conflicts, 
between the passions and the moral nature, are the 
most interesting subjects in the branch of literature 
to which we refer, and we believe, that to portray 
them with truth and power, the man of genius can 
find in nothing such effectual aid, as in the develop- 
ment of the moral and religious principles in his 
own breast. 


Heney T. Faemek was a native of England, who 
emigrated to Charleston, S. 0., where he was for 
some time engaged in commercial pursuits. He 
afterwards retired from business, and removed to 
New York for the purpose of studying medicine. 
He received the instructions of Drs. Francis and 
Hosack, was graduated at the College of Physi- 
cians and Surgeons, and licensed as a physician 
in 1821. During the progress of his studies he 
published Imagination; the Maniacs Dream, 
and other Poems, in a small volume. The collec- 
tion is dedicated to Mrs. Charles Baring, the 
wife of the author's uncle. This lady was, dur- 
ing a portion of her career, an actress, and the 
author of Virginia, Tlie Royal Recluse, Zulaine, 
and other dramas, which were performed with 
success. Several of the poems of the collection, 
as the Essay on Taste, which has an appeal to 
" Croaker," are addressed to Dr. Francis and 
others of the writer's friends. 

Farmer returned to Charleston, where he prac- 
tised medicine until his death, at the age of forty- 

His verses show a ready pen; a taste for the 

poetry of his day, a kindly susceptibility, and 
.occasionally sound with'effect the louder notes of 
the lyre. 


There was a harp, that might thy woes rehearse, 
In all the wild omnipotence of verse, 
Imperial Greece! when wizard Homer's skill 
Charm'd the coy muses from the woodland hill ; 
When nature, lavish of her boundless store, 
Poured all her gifts, while art still showered more ; 
Thy classic chisel through each mountain rung, 
Quick from its touch immortal labors sprung ; 
Truth vied with fancy in the grateful strife, 
And rocks assumed the noblest forms of life. 

Alas ! thy land is now aland of wo ; 
Thy muse is crowned with Druid misletoe. 
See the lorn virgin with dishevelled hair, 
To distant climes in 'wildered haste repair ; 
Chill desolation seeks her favored bowers, 
Neglect, that mildew, blasts her cherished flowers; 
The spring may bid their foliage bloom anew, 
The night may dress them in her fairy dew; 
But what shall chase the winter-cloud of pain, 
And bid her early numbers breathe again? 
What spring shall bid her mental gloom depart? 
Tie always winter in a bioken heart. 

The aged Patriarch seeks the sea-beat strand, 
To leave — for ever leave his native land ; 
No sun shall cheer him with so kind a beam, 
No fountain bless him with so pure a stream ; 
Nay, should the exile through Elysium roam, 
He leaves his heaven, when he leaves his home. 
But, we may deeper, darker truth unfold. 
Of matrons slaughtered, and of virgins sold, 
Of shrines polluted by barbarian rage, 
Of grey locks rifled from the head of age, 
Of pilgrims murdered, and of chiefs defied, 
Where Christians knelt, and Sparta's heroes died. 
Once more thy chiefs their glittering arms resume, 
For heaven, for vengeance, conquest or a tomb ; 
With fixed resolve to be for ever free, 
Or leave all Greece one vast Thermopylae. 

Columbia, rise! A voice comes o'er the main, 
To ask thy blessing, nor to ask in vain ; 
Stand forth in bold magnificence, and be 
For classic Greece, what France was once for thee. 
So shall the gods each patriot bosom sway, 
And make each Greek the hero of his day. 
But, should thy wisdom and thy valor stand 
On neutral ground — oh ! may thy generous hand 
Assist her hapless warriors, and repair 
Her altars, scath'd by sacrilege and care ; 
Hail all her triumphs, all her ills deplore, 
Nor let old Homer's manes beg once more. 

Timothy Flint was born in Reading, Massachu- 
setts, in the year 1780, and was graduated at 
Harvard in 1800. After two years of theological 
study, he was ordained pa^or of the Congrega- 
tional Church of Lunenburg, Worcester county, 
where he remained for twelve years. In October, 
1815, in consequence of ill health, he left with his 
family for the west, in pursuit of a milder climate, 
and change of scene. Crossing the Alleganies, 
and descending the Ohio, he arrived at Cincinnati, 
■ where he passed the winter months. Thefollowing 
spring and summer were spent in travelling in Ohio, 
Indiana, and Illinois, and after a halt at St. Louis, 
where he was, so far as he could learn, the first 



Protestant minister who ever administered the 
communion in the place, arrived at St. Charles 
on the Missouri. He here established himself as 
a missionary, and remained for three years thus 
employed in the town and surrounding country. 
He then removed to Arkansas, but returned after 
a few months to St. Charles. In 1822 he visited 
New Orleans, where he remained during the win- 
ter, and passed the next summer in Covington, 
Florida. Returning to Mew Orleans in the au- 
tumn, he removed to Alexandria on the Red 
River, in order to take charge of a school, but 
was forced by ill health, after a year's residence, 
to return to the North. 

In 1826 he published an account of these 
wanderings, and the scenes through which they 
had led him, in his Recollections of the last Ten 
Years passed in occasional residencies and journey- 
ings in the Valley of the Mississippi, in a series 
of letters to the Rev. James Flint, of Salem-, Mass. 
It was successful, and was followed the same 
year by Francis Berrian, or the Mexican Patriot, 
a story of romantic adventure with the Coman- 
ches, and of military prowess in the Mexican 
struggle, resulting in the fall of Iturbide. The 
book has now become scarce. In its day it was 
better thought of by critics for its passages of 
description, than for its story, which involved 
many improbable and incongruous incidents. 
His third Work, The Geography and History of the 
Mississippi Valley, appeared at Cincinnati in 
1827, in two octavo volumes. It is arranged ac- 
cording to states, and gives ample information, in 
a plain style, on the subject comprised in its title. 

In 1828 he published Arthur Clenning, a ro- 
mantic novel, in which the hero and heroine are 
shipwrecked in the Southern Ocean, reach New 
Holland, and after various adventures settle down 
to rural felicity in Illinois. This was followed by 
George Mason the Young Backwoodsman, and in 
1830 by the ShoshoneeValley, the scene of which 
is among the Indians of Oregon. 

His next work, Lectures upon Natural History, 
Geology, Chemistry, the Application of Steam, 
and Interesting Discoveries in the Arts, was pub- 
lished in Boston in 1832. 

On the retirement of Mr. C. F. Hoffman from 
the editorship of the Knickerbocker Magazine, 
Mr. Flint succeeded to his post for a few months 
in the year 1833. He translated about the same 
time Hart d'etre hsureuse by Droz, with ad- 
ditions of his own, and a novel entitled, Celibacy 
Vanquished, or the Old, Bachelor Reclaimed. In 
1834 he removed to Cincinnati, where he edited 
the Western Monthly Magazine for three years, 
contributing to it and to other periodicals as well, 
a number of tales and essays. In 1835 he fur- 
nished a series of Sketches of the Literature of 
the United States to the London Athenffium. 
He afterwards removed to Louisiana, and in May, 
1840, returned to New England on a. visit for tlie 
benefit of his health. Halting at Natchez on his 
way, he was for some hours buried in the rufns 
of a house thrown down, with many others, by the 
violence of a tornado. On his arrival at Reading 

his illness increased, and he wrote to his wife 
that his end would precede her reception of his 
letter, an announcement which hastened her own 
death and anticipated his own, by but a short 
time however, as he breathed Ms last on the 
eighteenth of August. 


It was now the middle of November. The 
weather up to this time had been, with the excep- 
tion of a couple of days of fog and rain, delightful. 
The sky has a milder and lighter azure than that of 
the northern states. The wide, clean sand-bars 
stretching for miles together, and now and then a 
flock of wild geese, swans, or sand-hill cranes, and 
pelicans, stalking along on them; the infinite varie- 
ties of form of the towering bluffs; the new tribes 
of shrubs and plants on the shores; the exuberant 
fertility of the soil, evidencing itself in the natural 
as well as cultivated vegetation, in the height and 
size of the corn, of itself alone a matter of astonish- 
ment to au inhabitant of the northern states, in 
the thrifty aspect of the young orchards, literally 
bending under their fruit, the surprising size and 
raukness of the weeds, and, in the enclosures where 
cultivation had been for a while suspended, the 
matted abundance of every kind of vegetation that 
ensued, — all these circumstances united to give a 
novelty and freshness to tlie scenery. The bottom 
forests everywhere display the huge sycamore, 
the king of the western forest, in all places an in- 
teresting tree, but particularly so here, and in au- 
tumn, when you see its white and long branches 
among its red and yellow fading leaves. You may 
add, that in all the trees that have been stripped of 
their leaves, you see them crowned with verdant 
tufts of the viscus or mistletoe, with its beautiful 
white berries, and their trunks entwined with grape- 
vines, some of them in size not much short of the 
human body. To add to this union of pleasant cir- 
cumstances, there is a delightful temperature of the 
air, more easily felt than described. In New Eng- 
land, when the sk-y was partially covered with fleecy 
clouds, and tlie wind blew very gently from the south- 
west, I have sometimes had the same sensations from 
the temperature there, A slight degree of languor 
ensues ; and the irritability that is caused by the 
rougher and more bracing air of tlie north, and which 
is more favourable to physical strength and activity 
than enjoyment, gives place to a tranquillity highly 
propitious to meditation. There is something, too, 
in the gentle and almost imperceptible motion, as you 
sit on the deck of the boat, and see the trees ap- 
parently moving by you, and new groups of scenery 
still opening upon your eye, together with the view 
of these ancient and magnificent forests, which the 
axe has not yet despoiled, the broad and beautiful 
river, the earth and the sky, which render such a 
trip at this season the very element of poetry. Let 
him that bus within him the bona indoles, the poetic 
mania, asyetunwhipt of justice, not think to sail down 
the Ohio under such circumstances, without venting 
to the genius of the river, the rocks, and the woods, 
the swans, and perchance his distant beloved, his 
dolorous notes. 

Henry, the third son of Colonel Timothy Picker- 
ing and Rebecca Pickering, was born on the 8th 
of October, 1781, at Newhurgh, in the Hasbrouck 
house, memorable as having been the headquar- 
ters of General Washington. Colonel Pickering 
was at the time quartermaster-general of the army 



of the Confederated States, and was absent with 
the commander-in-chief at the siege of Yorktown. 
In 1801, after a long residence in Pennsylvania, 
Colonel Pickering returned with his family to his 
native state, Massachusetts ; and subsequently 
Henry engaged in mercantile pursuits in Salem. 
In the course of a few years he acquired a mode- 
rate fortune, which he dispensed most liberally ; 
among other things, contributing largely towards 
the support of bin father's family and the educa- 
tion of its younger members. In 1825, in conse- 
quence of pecuniary losses, he removed from Sa- 
lem to New York, in the hope of retrieving his 
affairs; but being unsuccessful in business, he re- 
tired from the city, and resided several years at 
Eondout, and other places on the banks of the 
Hudson, devoting much of his time to reading, 
and finding in poetical composition a solace for 
his misfortunes. His writings take occasionally 
a sombre tint from the circumstances which shad- 
ed the latter years of his life, although his na- 
tural temperament was cheerful. He was a lover 
of the beautiful, as well in art as in nature, and 
he numbered among his friends the most eminent 
poets and artists of our country. An amiable 
trait in his character was a remarkable fondness 
for children, to whom he was endeared by his 
attentions. The affection with which he regarded 
his mother was peculiarly strong ; and he deemed 
himself highly blest in having parents, the one 
distinguished for ability, integrity, and public 
usefulness,, the other, beautiful, pure, gentle, and 


The following just tribute to his memory ap- 
peared in the Salem Gazette, in May, 1838 : — 
" Died in New York on the 8th instant Henry 

Pickering His remains were brought to 

this city on Friday last, and deposited at the side 
of the memorial which filial piety had erected to 
the memory of venerated parents — and amid the 
ancestral group which has been collecting since 
the settlement of the country. 

" A devoted, affectionate, and liberal son and 
brother, he entwined around him the best and 
the warmest feelings of his family circle. To his 
friends and acquaintances he was courteous, deli- 
cate, and refined in his deportment. "With a 
highly cultivated and tasteful mind he imparted 
pleasant instruction to all who held intercourse 

with him, while his unobtrusive manners silently 
forced themselves on the affections, and won the 
hearts of all who enjoyed his society." 

The poems of Pickering are suggested by sim- 
ple, natural subjects, and are in a healthy vein of 
reflection. A flower, a bird, a waterfall, child- 
hood, maternal affection are his topics, with which 
he blends his own gentle moods. The Buck-wheat 
C'aJce, which we print with his own corrections, 
first appeared in the New York Evening Post, 
and was published in an edition, now race, in 
Boston, in 1831. 


Square, and rough-hewn, and solid is the mass, 
And ancient, if aught ancient here appear 
Beside yon rock-ribb'd bills : but many a year 

Hath into dim oblivion swept, alas! 

Since bright in arms, the worthies of the land 
Were here assembled. Let me reverent tread ; 
For now, meseems, the spirits of the dead 

Are slowly gatherii g round, while I am fann'd 

By gales unearthly. Ay, they hover near — 
Patriots and Heroes — the august and great — 
The founders of a young and mighty state, 

Whose grandeur who shall tell? With holy fear, 
While tears unbidden my dim eyes suffuse, 
I mark them one by one, and marvelling, muse. 

I gaze, but they have vanish'd! and the eye, 
Free now to roam from where I take my stand, 
Dwells on the hoary pile. Let no rash hand 

Attempt its desecration : for though I 

Beneath the sod shall sleep, and memory's sigh 
Be there for ever stifled in tins breast, — 
Yet all who boast them of a land so blest, 

Whose pilgrim feet may some day hither hie, — 

Shall melt, alike, and kindle at the thought 

That these rude walls have echoed to the sound 
Of the great Patriots voice ! that even the ground 

I tread was trodden too by him who fought 
To make us free ; and whose unsullied name, 
fetill, like the sun, illustrious shines the same. 


Go, beautiful creations of the mind, 

Fair forms of earth and heaven, and scenes as fair — 

Where Art appears with Nature's loveliest air — 
Go, glad the few upon whom Fortune kind 
Yet lavishes her smiles. When calmly shin'd 

My hours, ye did not fail a zest most rare 

To add to life ; and when oppress'd by care, 
Or sadness twin'd, as she hath often twiu'd, 

With cypress wreath my brow, even then ye threw 
Around enchantment. But though I deplore 

The separation, in the mirror true 
Of mind, I yet shall see you as before: 

Then, go! like friends that vanish from our view, 
Though ne'er to be forgot, we part to meet no more. 


But neither breath of morn, when she ascends 
With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun 
On this delightful land ; nor herb, fruit, flower, 
Glistering with dew, nor fragra ce after showers ; 
Nor grateful evening, without thee is sweet 1 

Muse, that upon the top of Pindus sitt'st, 
And with the enchanting accents of thy lyre 
Dost soothe the immortals, while thy influence sweet 
Earth's fuvor'd bards confess, be present now ; 
Breathe through my soul, inspire thyself the song, 
And upward bear me in the adventurous flight: 
Lo the resistless theme — The Buckwheat Cake. 



Let others boastful sing the golden ear 
Whose farinaceous treasures, by nice art 
And sleight of hand, with store of milk and eggs, 
Form'd into pancakes of an ample round, 
Might please an epicure — and homebred bards 
Delight to celebrate the tassell'd maize 
Worn in the bosom of the Indian maid, 
Who taught to make the hoe-cake, (dainty fare, 
When butter'd well!) I envy not their joys. 
How easier of digestion, and, beyond 
Compare, more pure, more delicate, the cake 
All other cakes above, queen of the whole, 
And triumph of the culinary art — 
The Buckwheat Cake! my passion when a boy, 
And still the object of intensest love — 
Love undivided, knowing no decline, 
Immutable. My benison on thee, 
Thou glorious Plant! that thus with gladness 

Life's spring-time, and beneath bright Summer's eye, 
Lured'st me so oft to revel with the bee. 
Among thy snow-white flowers: naj', that e'en yet 
Propitious, amidst visions of the past 
"Which seem to make my day-dreams now of joy, 
Giv'st me to triumph o'er the ills of time. 
Thou, when the sun " pours down his sultry wrath," 
Scorching the earth and withering every flower, 
Unlo'k'st, beneficent, thy fragrant cells, 
And lavishest thy perfume on the ai]'; 
But when brown Autumn sweeps along the glebe, 
Gathering the hoar-frost in her rustling train, 
Thou eaptivat'st my heart! for thou dost then 
Wear a rich purple tint, the sign most sure 
That nature hath performed her kindly task, 
Leaving the husbandman to sum his wealth, 
And thank the bounteous Gods. O, now be wise, 
Ye swains, and use the scythe most gently ; else 
The grain, plump and well-ripen'd, breaks the tie 
Which slightly binds it to the parent stalk, 
And falls in rattling showers upon the ground. 
Mocking your futile toil; or, mingled straight 
With earth, lies buried deep, with all the hopes 
Of disappointed man ! Soon as the scythe 
Hath done its work, let the rake follow slow, 
With caution gathering up into a swarth 
The lusty corn ; which the prompt teamster next, 
Or to the barn floor clean transports, or heaps 
Remorseless on the ground, there to be thresh'd — 
Dull work, and most unmusical the flail ! 
And yet, if ponderous rollers smooth the soil. 
The earth affords a substitute not mean 
For the more polish'd plank ; and they who boast 
The texture of their meal — the sober race 
That claim a peaceful founder for their state — 
(Title worth all the kingdoms of the world!) 
Do most affect the practice. But a point, 
So subtile, others may debate: enough 
For me, if, when envelop'd in a cloud 
Of steam, hot from the griddle, I perceive, 
On tasting, no rude mixture in the cake, 
Gravel, or sandy particle, to the ear 
Even painful, and most fearful in effect: 
For should the jaws in sudden contact meet, 
The while, within a luscious morsel hid. 
Some pebble conies between, lo! as the gates 
Of Hell, they " grate harsh thunder ;" and the man 
Aghast, writhing with pain, the table spurns, 
And looks with loathing on the rich repast. 

But now, his garners full, and the sharp air, 
And fancy keener still, the appetite 
Inspiriting, to the mill, pereh'd near some crag 
Down which the foamy torrent rushes loud, 
The farmer bears his grist. And here I must 
To a discovery rare, in time advert : 

For the pure substance dense which is conceal'd 

Within the husk, and which, by process quick 

As simple, is trausform'd to meal, should first 

Be clean divested of its sombre coat : 

The which effected, 'tween the whizzing stones 

Descends the kernel, beauteous, and reduced 

To dust impalpable, comes drifting out 

In a white cloud. Let not the secret, thus 

Divulg'd be lost on you, ye delicate! 

Unless, in sooth, conviue'd ye should prefer 

A sprinkling of the bran ; for 'tis by some 

Alleg'd that this a higher zest confers. 

Who shall decide? Epicurean skill 

I boast not, nor exactest taste ; but if 

I am to be the umpire, then I say, 

As did the Baratarian king, of sleep — 

My blessing on the man who first the art 

Divine invented ! Ay, let the pure flour 

Be like the driven snow, bright to the eye, 

And unadulterate. So jovial sous 

Of Bacchus, with electric joy, behold 

"The dancing ruby ;" then, impatient, toss 

The clear unsullied draught. But is there aught 

In the inebriate cup, to be compar'd 

To the attractive object of my love, 

The Buckwheat Cake? Let those who list, still quaff 

The madd'ning juice, and, in their height of bliss, 

Believe that such, she of the laughing eye 

And lip of rose, celestial Hebe, deals 

Among the Gods; but O, ye Powers divine! 

If e'er ye listen to a mortal's prayer, 

Still give me my ambrosia. This confers 

No " pains arthritic," racking every joint. 

But leaves the body healthful, and the mind 

Serene and imperturb'd. — A nicer art 

Than all, remains yet to be taught; but dare 

I venture on the theme? Ye Momus tribes, 

Who l.'iugh even wisdom into scorn— and ye, 

Authoritative dames, who wave on high 

Your sceptre-spit, away ! and let the nymph 

Whose smiles betoken pleasure in the task, 

(If task it be.) brii g forth the polish'd jar ; 

Or, wanting such, one of an humbler sort, 

Earthen, but smooth within: although nor gold, 

Nor silver vase, like those once used, in times 

Remote, by the meek children of the Sun, 

(Ere tyrant Spain had steep'd their land in gore,) 

Were of too cosily fabric. But, at once, 

Obedient to the precepts of the muse, 

Pour in the tepid stream, warm but not hot, 

And pure as water from Castnlian spring. 

Yet interdicts she not the balmy tide 

Which flows from the full udder, if preferr'd; 

This, in the baking, o'er the luscious cake, 

Diffuses a warm golden hue — but that 

Frugality commends and Taste approves: 

Though if the quantity of milk infus'd 

Be not redundant, none can take offence. 

Let salt the liquid mass impregnate next ; 

And then into the deep, capacious urn, 

Adroitly sift the inestimable dust, 

Stirring, meanwhile, with paddle firmly held, 

The thickening fluid. Sage Discretion here 

Can best determine the consistence fit, 

Nor thin, nor yet too thick. Last add the barm — 

The living spirit which throughout the whole 

Shall quickly circulate, and airy, light, 

Bear upward by degrees the body dull. 

Be prudent now, nor let the appetite 
Too keen, urge forward the last act of all. 
Time, it is true, may move with languid wing, 
And the impatient soul demand the eate 
Delicious ; yet would I advise to bear 
A transient ill, and wait the award of Fate, 



The sluggish mass must be indulg'd, till, wak'd 

By the ethereal spirit, it shall mount 

From its dark cell, and court the upper air ; 

For, bak'd too soon, the cake, compact and hard, 

To the dissolving butter entrance free 

Denies, while disappointment and disgust 

Prey on the heart. Much less do thou neglect 

The auspicious moment ! Thee, nor business then 

Must urgent claim, nor love the while engross : 

For, ever to the skies aspiring still, 

The fluid vivified anon ascends, 

Disdains all bound, and o'er the vase's side 

Flows awful ! till, too late admonish'd, thou 

The miserable waste shalt frantic see, 

And, in the acid draff within, perceive 

Thy hopes all frustrate. Thus Vesuvius in 

Some angry hour, 'mid flames and blackening smoke, 

From his infuriate crater pours profuse 

The fiery lava — deluging the plains, 

And burying in its course cities, and towns, 

And fairest works of art! But, to avert 

Catastrophe so dire, the griddle smooth, — 

Like steely buckler of the heroic age, 

Elliptical, or round — and for not less 

Illustrious use design'd — make ready quick. 

Rubb'd o'er the surface hot, a little sand 

Will not be useless ; this each particle 

Adhesive of the previous batch removes, 

And renders easy the important work, 

To gracefully reverse the half-bak'd cake. 

With like intent, the porker's salted rind, 

Mov'd to and fro, must lubricate the whole : 

And this perform'd, let the white batter stream 

Upon the disk opaque, 'till silver'd o'er 

Like Cynthia's, it enchants the thoughtful soul. 

Impatient of restraint, the liquid spreads. 

And, as it spreads, a thousand globules rise, 

Glistening, but like the bubble joy, soon burst, 

And disappear. Ah, seize the occasion fair, 

Nor hesitate too long the cake to turn ; 

Which, of a truth, unsightly else must look, 

And to the experiene'd, nicer palate, prove 

Distasteful, See ! 'tis done : and now, O now 

The precious treat ! spongy, and soft, and brown ; 

Exhaling, as it comes, a vapor bland : 

While, all emboss'd witli flowers, (to be dissolv'd, 

Anon, as with the breath of the warm South,) 

Upon the alluring board the butter gleams — 

Not rancid, fit for appetite alone 

Of coarsest gust, but delicate and pure, 

And golden like the morn. Yet one thing more ; — 

The liquid amber which, untir'd, the bee 

From many a bloom distils for thankless man ; 

For man, who, when her services are o'er, 

The little glad purveyor of his board 

Remorseless kills. But to the glorious feast ! 

Ye Gods ! from your Olympian heights descend, 

And share with me what ye, yourselves, shall own 

Far dearer than ambrosia. That, indeed, 

May haply give a zest to social mirth, 

And, with the alternate cup, exhilarate 

The sons of heaven : but my nepenthe rare. 

Not only cheers the heart, but from the breast 

Care, grief, and every nameless ill dispels — 

Yielding a foretaste of immortal joy ! 


Heney J. Finn was born in the city of New 
York, in the year 1782. When a boy he sailed 
for England, on the invitation of a rich uncle 
resident there. The vessel sank at sea, and the 
passengers and crew were for many days exposed 
in small boats until they were picked up by a ship 
which landed them at Falmouth. Finn resided 

in London until the death of his uncle, who made 
no mention of him in his will. He then returned 
to New York in 1799, studied law for two years, 
— became tired of the profession, returned to 
London, and made his first appearance at the 
Haymarket Theatre ■' in the little part of Thomas 
in the Sleep Walker." He continued on the stage 
with success, and in 1811 returning to America 
made his first appearance at Montreal. He next 
performed in New York, and afterwards became 
a member of the stock company of the Federal 
Street Theatre, Boston. Here he remained for 
several years, and was at one time manager of 
the theatre. He was extremely successful here, 
and in every part of the country which he sub- 
sequently visited, as a comic actor, and accumu- 
lating a handsome fortune, retired in the intervals 
of his engagements to an elegant residence at 
Newport, fie was on his way to his pleasant 
home, when with many others he met a sudden 
and awful death, in the conflagration of the steam- 
boat Lexington on the night of January 13, 1840. 
Finn was celebrated as a comic writer as well 
as a comic actor. He published a Comic Annual, 
and a number of articles in various periodicals. 
The bills of his benefit nights were, says Mr. 
Sargent, " usually made up of the most extra- 
ordinary and inconceivable puns, for which his 
own name furnished prolific materials."* He 
wrote occasional pathetic pieces, which possess 
much feeling and beauty, and left behind him a 
MS. tragedy, portions of which were published 
in the New York Mirror, to which he was a con- 
tributor in 1839. He also wrote a patriotic drama 
entitled Montgomery, or the Falls of Montmo- 
renci, which was acted at Boston with success 
and published. He was a frequent versifier, and 
turned off a song with great readiness. He also pos- 
sessed some ability as a miniature and landscape 
painter. Of his ingenious capacity in the art of 
punning, a paragraph from a sketch of May Day 
in New York in his " Comic Annual," may be 
taken as a specimen. 

Then hogs have their essoine, the cart-horse is 
thrown upon the cart, and clothes-horses are broken 
upon the wheel. Old jugs, like old jokes, are cracked 
at their owners' expense, sofas lose their castors, 
and castors forsake their cruets, tumblers turn sum- 
mersets, plates are dished ; bellows, like bankrupts, 
can raise the wind no more, dog-irons go to pot, and 
pots go to the dogs ; spiders are on the fly, the safe 
is not safe, the deuce is played with the tray, straw 
beds are down. It is the spring with cherry trees, 
but the fall with cherry tables, for they lose their 
leaves, and candlesticks their branches. The whole 
family of the brushes — hearth, hair, hat, clothes, 
flesh, tooth, nail, crumb, and blacking, are brushing 
off. Books, like ships, are outward bound ; Scott's 
novels become low works, Old Mortality is in the 
dust, and Kenilworth is worthless in the kennel. 
Presidential pamphlets are paving the way for new 
candidates, medical tracts become treatises on the 
stone, naval tacticians descend to witness the novelty 
of American flags having been put down, and the 
advocates of liberality in thought, word, and deed, 
are gaining ground. Then wooden ware is every 
where. Pails are without the pale of preservation, 

* Life by Epes Sargent, in Griswold's Biographical Annual. 



and tlie tale of a tub, at which the washerwoman 
wrings her hands, in broken accents tells 

Of most disastrous chances, 

Of moving accidents byjiood and field, 

Tbat wind up the travel's history 

of a New York comic annual celebration. 

Daniel Webstek was born in the town of Salis- 
bury, New Hampshire, Jan. 18, 1782. His father, 
a farmer, and according to the habit of the conn- 
try and times an inn-keeper, a man of sterling 
character and intelligence, Major Ebenezer Web- 
ster, was a pioneer settler in the region on one of 
the townships?" established after the conclusion 
of the old French War, in which he had served 
under Amherst at Ticonderoga. He was subse- 
quently a soldier of the Revolution, with Stark at 
Bennington, and saw the surrender of Burgoyne 
at Saratoga. lie closed his life in the honorable 
relation of Judge of the Court of Common Pleas 
in 1806, at the age of sixty-seven. His son, in 
one of his Franklin letters, describes him as " the 
handsomest man I ever saw, except my brother 
Ezekiel," and adds, " he had in him what, I 
recollect to have been the character of some of 
the old Puritans. He was deeply religious, but 
not sour — on the contrary, good-humored, face- 
tious — showing even in his age, with a contagious 
laugh, teeth, all as white as alabaster — gentle, 
soft, playful — and yet having a heart in him that 
lie seemed to have borrowed from a lion."t Web- 
ster's first speech at the bar was while his father 
was on the bench; he never heard him again. 

The future orator received his first education 
from his mother. In 1796 he was for a few 
months at Phillips (Exeter) Academy, under the 
charge of Dr. Benjamin Abbott,! making his 
preparations for college, which he completed 
under the Rev. Dr. Samuel Wood, of Boscawen, 
one of the trustees who facilitated his admission. 
He entered Dartmouth in 1797, and having over- 
come by his diligence the disadvantages of his 
hasty preparation, took his degree, with good 

* It was in reference to this early habitation that Daniel 
Webster, in a speech at Saratoga in 1840, paid an elegant tri- 
bute to the memory of his lather. He described the log-cabin 
in which his elder brothers and sisters were born, " raised 
amid the snow-drifts of New Hampshire, at a period so early, 
that when the smoke first rose from its rude chimney, and 
curled over the frozen hills, there was no similar evidence 
of a white man's habitation between it and the settlements on 
the rivers of Canada. Its remains still exist. I make to it an 
annual visit. I carry iny childreu to it, to teach them the 
hardships endured by the generations which have gone before 
them. *' * I weep to think that none of those who inhabited 
it are now among the living, and if ever I am ashamed of it, 
or if I ever fail in affectionate veneration for him who raised 
it and defended it against savage violence and destruction, 
cherished all the domestic virtues beneath its roof, and through 
the- tire and blood of a seven years' revolutionary war. shrunk 
from no danger, no toil, no sacrifice to serve his country, and 
to raise his children to a condition better than his own. may 
my name and the name of my posterity, be blotted for ever 
from the memory of mankind.'' 

t Letter of Webster, Franklin, Mav 3, 1S46. Memorials 
(Appleton). ii. 243. 

i This school was founded in 1778 by John Phillips, a gra- 
duate of Harvard, son of a pious minister of Andovcr, ia con- 
junction with his bro ber, Samuel Phillips, of Andover. In 
17S9 John Phillips gave a further sum of $20,000, and be- 
queathed two thirds of his estate to the same object. He died 
in 179o. Dr. Abbott was the principal of this academy for fiftv 
years, from 17S9. At the close of that period he retired from 
his position, on which occasion a festival of the pupils was 
held, and speeches were made by Webster, Everett, and 
others. .Anions his pupils, of the public men of the country, 
had been Cass, Woodbury, the Everetts, Sparks, Bancroft. 

reputation as a scholar, Aug. 26, 1801. In con- 
sequence of a difficulty with the Faculty respect- 
ing the appointments, he did not speak at the 
Commencement. There was a sharp feeling of 
competition growing out of the rival literary 
societies, which led him to resent the assignment 
of the chief post, the Latin Salutatory, to another; 
while the Faculty thought his fine talents in Eng- 
lish composition might be better displayed in an 
oration on the fine arts or a poem.* He deli- 
vered a discourse the day previously, before the 
College Societies, on The Influence of Opinion. 
Subsequently, in 1806, he pronounced the Phi 
Beta Kappa College oration, on The Patronage 
of Literature. 

While in College, in his nineteenth year, in 
1800, he delivered a Fourth of July oration at 
the request of the citizens of Hanover, which was 
printed at the time. It is patriotic of cuurse, 
and energetic, well stored with historical mate- 
rial, for Webster was not, even in a Fourth of 
July oration in youth, a sounder of empty words. 
A funeral oration, which he pronounced a short 
time before leaving college, on the death of 
Ephraira Simonds, a member of the Senior Class, 
has that dignity of enumeration which is notice- 
able in Webster's later orations of this description. 
" All of him that was mortal," he spoke, " now 
lies in the charnel of yonder cemetery. By the 
grass that nods over the mounds of Sumner, Mer- 
rill, and Cooke, now rests a fourth son of Dart- 
mouth, constituting another monument of man's 
mortality. The sun, as it sinks to the ocean, 
plays its departing beams on his tomb, but they 
reanimate him not. The cold sod presses on his 
bosom ; his hands hang down in weakness. The 
bird of the evening chants a melancholy air on the 
poplar, but her voice is stillness to his ears. 
While his pencil was drawing scenes of future 
felicity', — while his soul fluttered on the gay 
breezes of hope. — an unseen hand drew the cur- 
tain, and shut him from our view.''! 

Upon leaving college, Webster began the study 
of the. law with Thomas W. Thompson, a lawyer 
of distinction, who was subsequently sent to the 
United States Senate, and presently left, to take 
charge, for a year, of the town academy at Frye- 
burg, in Maine, with a salary of three hundred 
and fifty dollars, which he was enabled to save 
by securing the post of Assistant to the Register 

i of Deeds to the county, and with which he 
managed to provide something to support him in 

; his legal studies, and for his brother Ezekiel's 

, education. In 1802 he returned to the office of 
Thompson at Salisbury, and two years afterwards 
went to Boston, where he completed his legal 
studies with the Hon. Christopher Gore. lie 

' was admitted to the Suffolk bar in 1S05. To be 
near his father lie opened an office fir the prac- 
tice of his profession at Boscawen, N. H. After 
his father's death he removed to Portsmouth in 
his native state, where he maintained himself till 
1816. In 1808 he had married the daughter of 
the Rev. Mr. Fletcher, of Hopkinton," N". H.f 

* Prof. Sanborn, of Dartmouth. Eulogy on Wcoster before 
the Students of Phillips Academy, Andover. 

t Lyman's Memorials of Webster, i. 246. 

% This lady died in 1S27, leaving four children— Grace, who 
died early : Fletcher, who survives his father; Julia, married 
to Mr. Appleton, of Boston, and since dead; and Edward, who 



In 1812 he delivered a Fourth of July oration at 
Portsmouth, hefore the Washington Benevolent 
Society, on the Principal Maxims of Washing- 
tori's Administration. 

In 1813 he was elected to the House of Repre- 
sentatives, and made his maiden speech on the 
Berlin and Milan decrees. In 1814 he was re- 
elected. In New Hampshire his legal course was 
sustained by association with Dexter, Story, 
Smith, and Mason. In Congress, he at once took 
his place with the solid and eloquent men of the 
House. In 1816 he removed to Boston, pursuing 
his profession with the highest distinction. In 
1823 he again took his seat in the House of Re- 
presentatives, and made his speech on the Greek 
Revolution, 19th Jan., 1824, a speech which 
added greatly to his reputation. He was re- 
elected — out of five thousand votes only ten being 
cast against him, and a similar event took place 
in 1826. The more prominent general addresses 
date from this period. 

In December, 1820, while a member of the 
Convention to revise the Ctn^titution of Massa- 
chusetts, he delivered his Plymouth oration on 
The First Settlement of New England. 

The first Bunker Hill speech was delivered 
June 17, 1825. when the corner-stone of the 
monument was laid ; the second exactly eighteen 
years afterwards on its completion. His Discourse 
in Commemoration of Jefferson and Adams was 
pronounced at Faneuil Hall, August 2, 1826. 

In 1827 he was elected to the Senate, where he 
continued for twelve years, during the adminis- 
trations of Jackson and Van Buren. His brother, 
Ezekiel Webster, fell in court at Concord while 
pleading a cause, and died instantaneously, of 
disease of the heart, in 1829. In 1830, his cele- 
brated oratorical passage with Col. Robert Y. 
Hayne, of South Carolina,* occurred, in reply to 
an attack upon New England, and an assertion 
of the nullification doctrines. The scene has 
been described both by pen and pencil, the artist 
Healy having made it the subject of a large his- 
torical picture. The contest embodied the an- 
tagonism for the time between the North and 
the South. Hayne, rich in elocution and ener- 
getic in bearing, was met by the cool argument 
and clear statement of Webster rising to his grand 
peroration, which still furnishes a national watch- 
word of Union. It was observed, on this occa- 
sion, that Webster wore the colors of the Whig 
party of the Revolution, a blue coat and butt' 

fell a Major In the Mexican war. In 1531 'Webster married a 
second time. Caroline, daughter of Herman Le Roy, of New 
York, by whom be bad no children. 

* Robert Y. Hayne was born in the parish of St. Paul. South 
Carolina. Nov. In. 1791. His grandfather was a brother of the 
Revolutionary martyr, Col. Isaac Hayne. He was a law pupil 
of Langdon Cheves, and rose rapidly at the bar in Charleston. 
He began his political career in the state legislature in his 
twenty-third year, Was soon Speaker of the House, and Attor- 
uey-Geneial of the State. He took his seat in the United 
States Senate, in his thirty-first year, as soon as he was eligible 
for the office. He resigned his seat in 1S82. to take the "post 
of Governor of the State in the nullification days, when he 
issued ;i counter proclamation in reply to that of President 
Jackson. When the matter was adjusted he turned his atten- 
tion to state improvement, in the midst of which be was 
taken with a mortal illness, and died in his forty-eighth 3 r ear, 
Sept., 1S89. Besides his speeches in the Senate, characterized 
by their ability and eloquenc , he was .the author of the papers 
in the old Smittiern Review on improvement of the navy, and 
the vindication of the memory of his relative, Col, Hayne. — 
Life, Character, and Speeches, of the late Robert Y. Hayne, 
Oct., 1S46. 

waistcoat, which was afterwards his not unusual 
oratorical costume. Webster's stalwart appear- 
ance, his fine olive complexion, his grave weighty 
look, his " cavernous eyes," which Miss Mar- 
tineau and the newspaper writers celebrated, 
were no unimportant accessories to his oratory. 

Qttffn^- #&&&*. 

Many of the speeches of Webster of this period 
were in opposition to the financial policy of the 
government. In the spring and summer of 1839 
he visited England and France, and was received 
with the greatest distinction in both countries; 
where his reputation, personal and political, as a 
man and an orator was well established. He spoke 
on several public occasions, but the only instance in 
wdiich his remarks have been preserved at length 
was his speech on his favorite topic of agriculture 
at the Triennial Celebration of the Royal Society 
of Agriculture at Oxford.* On his return he en- 
gaged in the presidential contest which resulted 
in the election of General Harrison, under wdiose 
administration he became Secretary of State in 
1841. To complete the adjustment of the boun- 
dary question and other outstanding difficulties 
j with England, he retained office under Tyler till 
j 1843. In 1845, in the Presidency of Polk, he 
i returned to his seat in the Senate, where he con- 
tinued till he was called by Fillmore to the de- 
partment of State again in 1850. He had pre- 
viously sustained the Compromise Measures with 
the full weight of his ability, both in Congress 
and in numerous "Union" speeches throughout 
■ the country. He should have had the Whig no- 
: mination to the Presidency, but the availability 
1 of Scott interposed. The frequent engagements of 
Webster at Conventions and gatherings through 
the States, endeared him much in his latter days 
to the people. He spoke at the opening of the 
Erie Railroad in 1851 ; he delivered a discourse 
on his favorite books and studies before the New 
York Historical Society, in February, 1852; and 
in the same month presided at the Metropolitan 
Hall assembly, when Bryant read his eulogy on 

• July 18, 1S30. 



the novelist Cooper. In May he made his last 
great speech in Faneuil Hall to the men of 

It was in office, the active service of the public, 
with scant intervals for recreation, and but a few 
months' travel away from his native land, that he 
had passed his life, and in the harness of office, as 
Secretary of State, he died. Since the deaths 
of Washington and Hamilton, no similar event 
had so deeply moved the country. The national 
heart throbbed with the pulsations of the telegraph 
which carried the news of his last moments 
through the land. Calmly, courageoudy, in the 
full exercise of his faculties, he discharged his 
last duties for his country, and watching the fall- 
ing sands of life, discoursed with his friends of 
religion and immortality. The first intimation 
which the public received of his serious illness, 
was mist touchingly conveyed in a newspaper 
article which aopaared in the Boston Courier 
of the date of October 20, entitled, " Mr. Webster 
at Marshfield." Its author, who is understood to 
have been Professor C. C. Felton of Harvard 
College, after reviewing his recent political course, 
described the noble natural features of his farm, 
as a framework for a notice of its owner, to 
whom the writer passed by a masterly transition. 
"As you look down from thjse hills, your heart 
beats with the unspeakable emotion that such ob- 
jects inspire; but the charm is heightened by the 
reflection that the capabilities of nature have 
been unfolded by the skill and taste of one whose 
faui3 fills the world; that an illustrious existence 
has here blended its activity with the processes 
of the genial earth, and breathed its power into 
the breath of heaven, and drawn its inspiration 
from the air, the sea, and the sky, and around and 
above ; and that here, at this moment, the same 
illustrious existence is, for a time, struggling in 
doubtful contest with a foe to whom all men 
must, sooner or later, lay down their arms. * * 
Solemn thoughts exclude from his mind the in- 
ferior topics of the fleeting hour ; and the great 
and awful themes of the future now seemingly 
opening before him— themes to which his mind has 
alwavs and instinctively turned its profoundest 
meditations, now fill the hours won from the weary 
Iassitu le of illness, or from the public duties 
which sickness an I retirement cannot make him 
forget or neglect. The eloquent speculations of 
Cicero on the immortality of the soul, and the ad- 
mirable argumsnts against the Epicurean philoso- 
phy put into the mouth of one of the colloquists 
in the book of the Nature of the Gods, share his 
thoughts with the sure testimony of the Word of 
God." Two days after, the telegraph bore this 
brief announcem ;nt from B iston — " A special mes- 
senger from Marshfield arrived here this morning, 
with the melanch dy intelligencs that Daniel 
Webster cannot live through the day." From 
that moment, almo?t hourly, news was borne 
through the country to the end, between two and 
three o'clock on the morning of Sunday, October 
21, 1852. 

Am mg the last words which .Webster listened 
to, and in which be expressed an interest, were 
some stanzas of Gray's Elegy, which he had endea- 
vored to recall, and the sublime consolation of the 
Psalmist, repeated by his physician, Dr. Jeffries : 
— " Though I walk through the valley of the 

shadow of death I will fear no evil, for Thou art 
with me ; Thy rod and thy staff they comfort 
me." The last words he uttered were, " I still 

Then it was felt how great a heart the mask of 
life had covered. Death, in the grand language 
of Bacon, had " opened the gate to good fame, 
and extinguished envy." Traits of the nobility 
of the man were called to mind. It was remem- 
bered how he had dwelt upon the simple uni- 
versal ideas of the elements, the sea rolling before 
him at Marshfield ; the starry heavens shining 
through the foliage of the elm at his door; the 
purpling of the dawn ;t his admiration of the 
psalms and the prophets, and the primeval book 
of Job ; bis dying kindness to his friend Har- 
vey,]: and the friendly intercourse which he had 
sustained with the country people around, whose 
love for their rural occupations he bad exalted; 
and bow in bis last days, when too feeble to leave 
his room, he bad refreshed his mind with those 
favorite pursuits, by looking at the cattle, which 
he had caused to be driven to the window. 

Funeral honors were paid to his memory in the 
chief cities of the Union by processions and orations. 
His interment took place at Marshfield on Friday 
the 29th October. His remains, dressed as when 
living, were conveyed from the library to a bier in 
front of the bouse, beneath his favorite elm. The 
funeral services were performed by the pastor of 
the neighboring church at South Marshfield, when 
the numerous procession, including delegates from 
various public bodies of several States, followed to 
the tomb, built for its new occupant, for his fa- 
mily and himself, on an elevation commanding a 
view of the country around, and of the sea. 
Here he rests. A marble block, since placed in 
front of the tomb, bears the legend : " Lord, I 
believe, help thou my unbelief."§ 

* It may be recalled that the poet Dwight, in his last hours, 
was consoled by the same text of Scripture ; and that a similar 
expression was among the lost which fell from the lips of 

An authentic account of Webster's illness and death was 
prepared by Mr. George Tirknor, and is published in the ele- 
gantly printed volume " A Memorial of Daniel Webster, from 
the city of Boston," published in 1S53, which contains the obi- 
tuary proceedings and orations of the courts and various so- 
cieties, as well as Professor Fclton's notice of" the last autumn 
at Marshfield." 

t lie took refuge in these remote Starr}' suggestions, placing 
the temporizing politics of the hour at an infinite distance 
from him, when he was called up one night at Washington, 
by a crowd of citizens, to receive the news of Scott's nomina- 
tion for the Presidency. — " Gentlemen : this is a serene aud 
beautiful night. Ten thousand thousand of the lights of hea- 
ven illuminate the firmament They rule the night. A few 
hours hence their glory wilt be extinguished. 

You meaner beauties of the night, 

Which poorly satisfy our eyes, 

What are you when the sun doth rise? 

Gentlemen: There is not one among you who will sleep bet- 
ter to-night than I shall. If I wake' I shall learn the hour 
from the constellations, and I shall rise in the morning, God 
Willing, with the lark ; and though the lark is abetter songster 
than lam. yet he will not leave the dew and the daisies, and 
spring upward to greet the purpling east, with a more blithe 
and jocund spirit than I shall possess. 11 

} The day before lie died be Called for his friend Peter Har- 
vey, a merchant of Boston, whom he requested not to leavo 
him till he was dead. He had shortly before written an order 
— " My son, take some piece of silver, let it be handsome, and 
put a suitable inscription on it, and give it, with my love, to 
.Peter Harvey. Marshfield, Oct. 2-3, 1S52." 

§ With regard to Webster's religious views, be had probably 
no strongly defined system of observance. Early in life, it is 
said, he was a member of the Presbyterian church, latterly he 
Was in communion with the Episcopal church. — Letter ofthc 
Hon. E. Barnwell P.hett, Charleston Mercury. Nov. 1652. 


In his death, 'Webster remembered his love of 
country, and personal associations with the home 
of Marshfield. He left the property in the hands 
of trustees for the use of his son Fletcher, during 
his life, and alter to his children, connecting, by 
provision, his books, pictures, plate, and furni- 
ture, with the building ; " it being my desire and 
intention that they remain attached to the house, 
while it is occupied by any of my name and 
blood." His respect for his writings, which had 
been carefully arranged by his friend Edward 
Everett, was coupled with regard to his family 
and friends, to some of whom he dedicated se- 
parately each of the sis volumes.* His literary 
executors, whom he left in charge of Ids papers 
by will, were Edward Everett, George Ticknor, 
Cornelius C. Felton, George T. Curtis. 

The career of Webster remains as a study for 
Jus countrymen. Its lessons are not confined to 
oratory or political life. He was an example of 
manly American culture, sucli as is open to and 
may be shared by thousands through the land. 
His youth was one of New England self-denial 
and conscientious perseverance. Nature har- 
dened her thriving son in a rugged soil of endur- 

The numerous anecdotes of his early life will 
pass to posterity as the type of a peculiar cul- 
ture and form of civilization, which have made 
many men in America. There was a vein of the 
stout old Puritanic granite in his composition, 
which the corruptions of Washington life, the 
manners of cities and the arts of politics, never 
entirely overlaid.! To this he was true to ths 
end. In whatever associations he might be 
placed there was always 'this show of strength 
and vigor. It was felt that whatever might ap- 
pear otherwise was accidental and the etfect of 
circumstances, while the substantive man, Daniel 
Webster, was a man of pith and moment, built 
up upon strong ever-during realities. An "I this 
is to be said of all human greatness, that it is but 
as the sun shining in glimpses through an ob- 
scured day of clouds and darkness. Clear and 
bright was that life at its rising ; great warmth 
did it impart at its meridian ; and a happy omen 
was the final Sabbath morn of strange purity and 
peace, with whose dawn its beams were at last 

Daniel Webster had completed the solemn al- 
lotment of three score and ten. It was his for- 
tune at once to die at home, in the midst of the 
sanctities of his household, and in the almost in- 

* Works of Daniel Webster, with " Biographical Memoir of 
the Public Life," by Everett. Boston : Little and Brown. 

t It is not to be denied that the associations and habits of 
Washington life detracted something from the position gained 
by the early manhood of Webster. His fortune broken by his 
separation from a lucrative practice, which he abandoned for 
public life, was afterwards too much dependent on the subscrip- 
tions of his mercantile friends. In his personal habits he be- 
came careless of expense, and in his financial affairs embarrassed. 
The intemperance of Webster became a popular notion, which 
was doubtless much exaggerated, as his friend Dr. Francis baa 
demonstrated from physiological reasons, and Charles A. Stet- 
ton has shown in his vindication of him in this particular, in 
his remarks made at the celebration of his birth-day at the 
Astor House in 1854. and which he has since published. The 
use of stimulants appears, too, from the statement of his phy- 
sicians (in the aceouut of his illness and the autopsy in the 
American Medical Journal of Science for January, 1853), to 
have been resorted to as a sedative for physical pain'and weak- 

stant discharge of his duties to the State. His 
public life to its close was identified with im- 
portant questions of national concern and mo- 

Of his capacities as an orator and writer — of 
his forensic triumphs and repute — of his literary 
skill and success much may be said. His speech 
had strength, force, and dignity ; his composi- 
tion was clear, rational, strengthened by a pow- 
erful imagination — in his great orations " the 
lightning of passion running along the iron links 
of argument."* The one lesson which they teach, 
to the youth of America is self-respect, a manly 
consciousness of power, expressed simply and di- 
rectly — to look for the substantial qualities of the 
thing, and utter them distinctly as they are felt 
intensely. This was the sum of the art which 
Webster used in his orations. There was no cir- 
cumlocution or trick of rhetoric beyond the old 
Horatian recommendation, adopted by a generous 
nature : 

Verbaque provisam rem non intita sequentur. 

Tins habit of mind led Webster to the great 
masters of thought. He found his fertile nourish- 
ment in the books of the Bible, the simple energy 
of Homer, and the vivid grandeur of Milton. He 
has left traces of these studies on many a page. 

There was about Webster a constant air of no- 
bility of soul. Whatever subject he touched lost 
nothing of its dignity with him. The occasion 
rose in his hands, as he connected it with inte- 
rests beyond those of the present moment or the 
passing object. Two grand ideas, capable of fill- 
ing the soul to its utmost capacity, seem to have 
been ever present with him : the sense of nation- 
ality, of patriotism, with its manifold relations; 
and of the grand mutations of time. He lived 
for half a century in the public life of his country, 
with whose growth he grew, from the first gene- 
ration of patriots, and in whose mould, as it was 
shaped over a continent, he was moulded. He 
seemed to be conscious himself of a certain his- 
toric element in his thoughts and actions. This 
will be remembered as a prevalent trait of his 
speeches and addresses, whether in the capitol or 
before a group 'of villagers. He recalled the ge- 
nerations which had gone before, the founders of 
states in colonial times on our western shores; 
the men of the days of Washington; our sires of 
the Revolution. He enumerated the yeomanry 
and peasantry ; the names memorable in his 
youth, as they are recorded in the pages of the 
Iliad or the iEneid : — 

Fortemque Gyan, fortemque Cloanthum, 

or as imperishable history chronicles them in the 
sacred annals of Judea. 


It may be asked, perhaps, Supposing all this to be 
true, what can we do ? Are we to go to war ? Are v 
we to interfere in the Greek cause, or any other 
European cause ? Are we to endanger our pacific 
relations? No, certainly not. What, then, the 
question recurs, remains for us ? If we will not en- 

* Address by George S. Hillard, at a meeting of citizens in 
Faneuil Hall, in honor of the memory of Webster, October 27, 



danger our own peace, if we will neither furnish 
armies nor navies to the cause which we think the 
just one, what is there within our power? 

Sir, this reasoning mistakes the age. The time 
has been, indeed, when fleets, and armies, and sub- 
sidies, were the principal reliances even in the best 
cause. But, happily for mankind, a great change 
has taken place in this respect. Moral causes come 
into consideration, in proportion as the progress of 
knowledge is advanced ; and the public opinion of 
the civilized world is rapidly gaining an ascendency 
over mere brutal force. It is already able to oppose 
the most formidable obstruction to the progress of 
injustice and oppression ; and as it grows more in- 
telligent and more intense, it will be more and more 
formidable. It may be silenced by military power, 
but it cannot be conquered. It is elastic, irrepres- 
sible, and invulnerable to the weapons of ordinary 
warfare. It is that impassible, unextinguishable 
enemy of mere violence and arbitrary rule, which, 
like Milton's, angels, 

Vital in every part, 

Cannot, but by annihilating, die. 

Until this be propitiated or satisfied, it is vain for 
power to talk either of triumphs or of repose. No 
matter what fields are desolated, what fortresses sur- 
rendered, what armies subdued, or what provinces 
overrun. In the history of the year that has passed 
by us, and in the instance of unhappy Spain, we have 
seen the vanity of all triumphs in a cause which vio- 
lates the general sense of justice of the civilized 
world. It is nothing, that the troops of France have 
passed from the Pyrenees to Cadiz ; it is nothing that 
an unhappy and prostrate nation lias fallen before 
them; it is nothing that arrests, and confiscation, 
and execution, sweep away the little remnant of na- 
tional resistance. There is an enemy that still exists 
to check the glory of these triumphs. It follows the 
conqueror back to the very scene of his ovations ; it 
calls upon him to take notice that Europe, though 
silent, is yet indignant; it shows him that the scep- 
tre of his victory is a barren 'sceptre; that it shall 
confer neither joy nor honor, but shall moulder to 
dry ashes in his grasp. In the midst of his exalta- 
tion, it pierces his ear with the cry of injured jus- 
tice ; it denounces against him the indignation of an 
enlightened and civilized age; it turns to bitterness 
the cup of his rejoicing, and wounds him with the 
sting which belongs to the consciousness of having 
outraged the opinion of mankind. 


Mr. President, I have thus stated the reasons of 
my dissent to the doctrines which have been ad- 
vanced and maintained. I am conscious of having 
detained you and the Senate much too long. I was 
drawn into the debate witli no previous deliberation, 
such as is suited to the discussion of so grave and 
important a subject. But it is a subject of which 
my heart is full, and I have not been willing to sup- 
press the utterance of its spontaneous sentiments. I 
cannot, even now, persuade myself to relinquish it, 
without expressing once more my deep conviction, 
that, since it respects nothing less than the Union of 
the States, it is of most vital and essential importance 
to the public happiness. I profess, Sir, in my career 
hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prospe- 
rity and honor of the whole country, and the pre- 
servation of our Federal Union. It is to that Union 
we owe our safety at home, and our consideration 
and dignity abroad. It is to that Union that we are 
chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud 
of our country. That Union we reached only by the 

vol. n. — 3 

discipline of our virtues in the severe school of ad- 
versity. It had its origin in the necessities of dis- 
ordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined 
credit. Under its benign influences, these great inte- 
rests immediately awoke, as from the dead, and 
sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its 
duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility 
and its blessings ; and although our territory has 
stretched out wider and wider, and our population 
spread farther and farther, they have not outrun its 
protection or its benefits. It has been to us all a 
copious fountain of national, social, and personal 

I have not allowed myself, Sir, to look beyond the 
Union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark re- 
cess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances 
of preserving liberty when the bonds that unite us 
together shall be broken asunder. I have not accus- 
tomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, 
to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom 
the depth of the abyss below ; nor could I regard 
him as a safe counsellor in the affairs of this govern- 
ment, whose thoughts should be mainly bent on con- 
sidering, not how the Union may be best preserved, 
but how tolerable might be the condition of the peo- 
ple when it should be broken up and destroyed. 
While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gra- 
tifying prospects spread out before us, for us and our 
children. Beyond that I 6eek not to penetrate the 
veil. God grant that in my day, at least, that cur- 
tain may not rise ! God grant that on my vision 
never may be opened what lies behind ! When my 
eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the 
sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the 
broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious 
Union ; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent; 
on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may 
be, in fraternal blood! Let their last feeble and 
lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous ensign 
of the republic, now known and honored throughout 
the. earth, still full high advanced, its arms and tro- 
phies streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe 
erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured, bear- 
ing for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory as 
" What is all this worth?" nor those other words of 
delusion and folly, " Liberty first and Union after- 
wards;" but everywhere, spread all over in charac- 
ters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as 
they float over the sea and over the land, and in every 
wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, 
dear to every true American heart, — Liberty and 
Union, now and for ever, one and inseparable! 


He has done the murder. No eye has seen him, 
no ear has heard him. The secret is his own, and it 
is safe ! 

Ah! Gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. 
Such a secret can be safe nowhere. The whole crea- 
tion of God has neither nook nor corner where the 
guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. Not to speak 
of that eye which pierces through all disguises, and 
beholds every thing as in the splendor of noon, such 
secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by 
men. True it is, generally speaking, that " murder 
will out." True it is, that Providence hath so or- 
dained, and doth so govern things, that those who 
break the great law of Heaven by shedding man's 
blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Es- 
pecially, in a case exciting so much attention as this, 
discovery must come, and will come, sooner or later. 
A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, 
every thing, every circumstance, connected with the 
time' and place ; a thousand ears catch every whis- 



per; a thousand excited minds intensely dwell on 
the scene, shedding all their light, and ready to kin- 
dle the slightest circumstance into a blaze of disco- 
very. Meantime the guilty soul cannot keep its 
own secret. It is false to itself ; or rather it feels an 
irresistible impulse of conscience to be true to itself. 
It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not 
what to do with it. The human heart was not made 
for the residence of such an inhabitant. It fii:ds 
itself preyed on by a torment, which it dares not 
acknowledge to God or man. A vulture is devour- 
ing it, and it can ask no sympathy or assistance, 
either from heaven or earth. Tlie secret which the 
murderer possesses soon comes to possess him ; and, 
like the evil spirits of which we read, it overcomes 
him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels 
it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and de- 
manding disclosure. He thinks the whole world 
6ees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost 
hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. 
It has hecoine his master. It betrays his discretion, 
it bieaks down his courage, it conquers his prudence. 
When suspicions from without begin to embarrass 
him, and the net of circumstance to entangle him, 
the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence 
to burst forth. It must be confessed, it will be con- 
fessed ; there is no refuge from confession but sui- 
cide, and suicide is confession. 


Unborn ages and visions of glory crowd upon my 
soul, the realization of all which, however, is in the 
hands and good pleasure of Almighty God, but, un- 
der his divine blessing, it will be dependent on the 
character and the virtues of ourselves, and of our 

If classical history has been found to be, is now, 
and shall continue to be, the concomitant of free in- 
stitutions, and of popular eloquence, what a field is 
opening to us for a:. other Herodotus, another Thu- 
cydides, and another Livy! And let me say, Gen- 
tlemen, that if we, and our posterity, shall be true 
to the Christian religion, if we and they shall live 
always in the fear of God, and shall respect his com- 
mandments, if we, and they, shall maintain just, 
moral sentiments, and such conscientious convictions 
of duty as shall control the heart and life, we may 
have the highest hopes of the future fortunes of our 
country ; and if we maintain those institutions of 
government and that political union, exceeding all 
praise as much as it exceeds all former examples of 
political associations, we may be sure of one thing, 
that, while our country furnishes materials for a 
thousand masters of the Historic Art, it will afford 
no topic for a Gibbon. It will have no Decline and 
FalL It will go on prospering and to prosper. But, 
if we and our posterity reject religious instruction 
and authority, violate the rules of eternal justice, 
trifle with the injunctions of morality, and recklessly 
destroy the political constitution which holds us to- 
gether, no man can tell, how sudden a catastrophe 
may overwhelm us, that shall bury nil our glory in 
profound obscurity. Should that catastrophe hap- 
pen, let it have no history ! Let the horrible narra- 
tive never be written ! Let its fate be like that of 
the lost books of Livy. which no human eve shall 
ever read, or the missing Pleiad, of which no man 
can ever know more, than that it is lost, and lost 
for ever ! 


Richmond, Va.. J 
Five o'clock, A. M., April 29, 1852. ) 

My DearFkiexd: — Whether it be a favor or an 
annoyance, you owe this letter to my early habits of 

rising. From the hour marked at the top of the 
page, you will naturally conclude that my compa- 
nions are not now engaging my attention, as we have 
not calculated on being early travellers to-day. 

This city has a " pleasant seat." It is high ; the 
James river runs below it, and when I went out, an 
hour ago, nothing was heard but the roar of the 
Falls. The air is tranquil and its temperature mild. 
It is morning, and a morning sweet and fresh, and 
delightful. Everybody knows the morning in its 
metaphorical sense, applied to so many occasions. 
The health, strength, and beauty of early years, lead 
us to call that period the " morning of life." Of a 
lovely young woman we say she is " bright as the 
morning," and no one doubts why Lucifer is called 
" sou of the morning." 

But the morning itself, few people, inhabitants of 
cities, know anything about. Among all our good 
people, no one in a thousand sees the sun rise once 
in a year. They know nothing of the morning; 
their idea of it is, that it is that part of the day which 
comes along after a cup of coffee and a beefsteak, or 
a piece of toast. With them morning is not a new 
issuing of light, a new bursting forth of the sun, a 
new waking up of all that has life from a sort of 
temporary death, to behold again the works of God, 
the heavens and the earth; it is only a part of the 
domestic day, belonging to reading the newspapers, 
answering notes, Eending the children to school, and 
giving orders for dinner. The first streak of light, 
the earliest purpling of the east, which the lark 
springs up to greet, and the deeper and deeper co- 
loring into orange and red, till at length the " glo- 
rious sun is seen, regent of the day" — this they never 
enjoy, for they never see it. 

Beautiful descriptions of the morning abound in 
all languages, but the}' are the strongest perhaps in 
the East, where the sun is often an object of worship. 

King David speaks of taking to himself the " wings 
of the morning." This is highly poetical and beau- 
tiful. The wings of the niornii g are the beams of 
the rising sun. Rnys of light are wings. It is thus 
said that the sun of righteousness shall arise "with 
healing in his wings" — a rising sun that shall scatter 
life, health, and joy through the Universe. 

Milton has fine descriptions of mornii g. but not so 
many as Shakespeare, from whose writings pnges of 
the most beautiful imagery, all founded on the glory 
of morning, might be filled. 

I never thought that Adam had much the advan- 
tage of us from having seen the world while it was 

The manifestations of the power of God, like His 
mercies, are " new every mornii, g," and fresh every 

We see as fine risings of the sun as ever Adam saw ; 
and its risings are as much a miracle now as they 
were in his day, and I think a good deal more, be- 
cause it is now a part of the •miracle, that for thou- 
sands and thousands of years he has come to his ap- 
pointed time, without tiie variation of a millionth 
part of a second. Adam could not tell how this 
might be. I know the morning — I am acquainted 
with it, and, I love it. I love it fresh and sweet as it 
is — a daily new creation, breaking forth and calling 
all that have life and breath and being to new ado- 
ration, new enjoyments, and new gratitude. 

Daniel Webster. 

Jorrx Caldwell Calhoun* was burn in Abbe- 
ville District, South Carolina, March 18, 1782. 
His father, Patrick Calhoun, was an Irishman by 
birth, who emigrated to Pennsylvania at an early 



age, removed to 'Western Virginia, and, after 
Braddock's defeat, to South Carolina. lie was a 
man of a vigorous frame of mind as well as 
body, and distinguished among his neighbors 
by his jealousy of the encroachments of govern- 
ment, carrying his principle so far as to oppo-e 
the adoption of the federal constitution on the 
ground that it gave other states tiie power of tax- 
ing his own. He married Miss Caldwell, of 
Charlotte County, Virginia. 

The father's residence was situated in the wild, 
upper portion of the state, and was known as tiie 
Calhoun Settlement. The future senator was 
sent at the age of thirteen to the nearest academy, 
which was fifty miles distant. It was presided 
over by the Rev. Dr. Waldell, a Presbyterian, 
his brother-in-law. In consequence of the death 
of this gentleman's wife not long after, the school 
win broken up. Calhoun continued to reside 
with Mr. Waddell, who happened to have in 
charge the circulating library of the village. 
This small collection of books was eagerly de- 
voured by the young student, whose tastes even 
then led him to the graver departments of litera- 
ture, lie read the histories of Eollin, Robert- 
Bon, and V >ltaire, with such assiduity, that in 
fourteen wejkshe had despatched several of each, 
in addition to Cook's Voyages, and a portion of 
Locke on the Understanding. This intense ap- 
plication injured his eyes and his general health 
to such an extent that his mother interposed, and 
by a judicious course of ont-door physical exer- 
cise, succeeded in restoring the natural vigor of 
his constitution, and giving him a taste for rural 
sports which was of service then, and afterwards, 
as a relief to his mental labors. 

After four years spent at home, Calhoun en- 


tered Yale College in 1S02, on the completion of 
his course studied law at the celebrated school of 
Litchfield, and was admitted to practice in 1807. 
In 1808 he was elected to the Legislature of South 
Carolina, and in 181 1 to the National House of 
Representatives. In 1817 he was appointed Se- 
cretary of War by President Monroe, an office 

which he held for seven years, introducing 
during his incumbency an order and vigor in its 
administration, which was of eminent service to 
the future operations of the department. In 
1825 he was elected Vice-President, with Mr. 
Adams as President, and again in 1829. In 1831 
he resigned the office, to take General Hayne's 
place, vacated by his election as Governor of 
South Carolina, in the Senate. He retired at the 
clo<e of his term. During Mr. Tyler's adminis- 
tration, he was appointed Secretary of State. In 
1845 he was again returned to the Senate, where 
he remained in activeservice until his death, which 
occurred at Washington, March '31, 1850. 

Mr. Calhoun was a warm advocate of the war of 
1812, of the nullification proceedings in his native 
6tate during General Jackson's administration, and 
was for many years the leading statesman of the 
Southern States. He took extreme ground in 
regard to State rights and the slavery question. 

Webster, in his tribute in the Senate to Calhoun, 
noticed the qualities of his mind, and the simple, 
single pursuits of his life. " His eloquence was 
part of his intellectual character. It was plain, 
strong, terse, condensed, concise ; sometimes im- 
passioned, still always severe. Rejecting orna- 
ment, not often seeking far for illustration, his 
power consisted in the plainness of his proposi- 
tions, in the closeness of his logic, and in the 
earnestness and energy of his manner" — adding, 
"I have known no man who wasted less of life 
in what is called recreation, or employed less of 
it in any pursuits not connected with the immedi- 
ate discharge of his duty. He seemed to have 
no recreation but the pleasure of conversation 
with his friends."* Ingersoll, too, in his History 
of the Second War with England, condenses in a 
few vigorous words a striking picture of Calhoun 
as an orator, including the marked characteristics 
of the man : — :i Speaking with aggressive aspect, 
flashing eye, rapid action and enunciation, un- 
adorned argument, eccentricity of judgment, un- 
bounded love of rule; impatient, precipitate in 
ambition, kind in temper; with conception, per- 
ception, and demonstration, quick and clear; with 
logical precision arguing paradoxes, and carrying 
home conviction beyond rhetorical illustration; 
his own impressions so intense, as to discredit, 
scarcely to listen to any other suggestions." 

The publication of Calhoun's works, edited by 
Richard K. Cralle, under the direction of the 
General Assembly of the State of South Carolina, 
was commenced in Charleston in 1851, and 
shortly after transferred to the Messrs. Appleton 
of New York. Four volumes have been issued, 
and others are to follow. The first includes the 
posthumous work on which the author had been 
engaged in 1848 and 1840, A Disquisition on, 
Government, and a Discourse on the Constitution 
and Government of the United States; the re- 
mainder are occupied with Speeches delivered in 
the House of Representatives, and in the Senate 
of the United States. His Documentary Writings 
and a Life are in preparation. 

Calhoun's view of state rights is expressed in 
broad terms in his Disquisition on Government, 
in his theory of the right of the minority, which 
is the essence of the volume. This, like his other 

* Remarks in tho Senate, April 1, 1S50. 


views, even when they are pushed to excess, is 
handled in a straightforward manner, without 
concealment or subterfuge. It leads him in his 
theory to maintain the right of veto in a single 
member of a confederacy over the remaining a— 
sociates — a proceeding which would practically 
stop the wheels of the national movement ; and 
which is little likely to be adopted, however logi- 
cally the argument may be drawn out in print. 

In his personal character Calhoun was of great 
purity and simplicity of character. His mode of 
life on his plantation at Fort Hill was simple and 
unostentatious, but ever warm-hearted and hospi- 
table. An inmate of his household, Miss Bates, 
for many years the governess of his children, 
bears honorable testimony to the purity and ele- 
vation of character of the great statesman in the 
private relations of the family. " Life with him," 
she says, " was solemn and earnest, and yet all 
about him was cheerful. I never heard him utter a 
jest ; there was an unvarying dignity in his man- 
ner ; and } T et the playful child regarded him fear- 
lessly and lovingly. Few men indulged their 
families in as free, confidential, and familiar inter- 
course as did this great statesman. Indeed, to 
those who had an opportunity of observing him 
in his own house, it was evident that his cheerful 
and happy home had attractions for him superior 
to those which any other place could offer." 

He enjoyed the out-door supervision of his 
plantation at Fort Hill, and like Clay and "Web- 
ster aimed at an agricultural reputation. His 
tastes were as simple as refined, and he carried 
his avoidance of personal luxury to a degree al- 
most of abstemiousness. 

His conversation was eagerly sought for its 
rare exhibition of logical power and philosophical 
acumen, especially in the range of government 
topics. Although he did not aim at brilliancy, 
his clear expression of deep thought, his exten- 
sive and thorough information, his readiness on 
every topic, his courtesy and sympathy with the 
mode of life and character of others, made his 
society a coveted enjoyment. 

He cared little for what others said of him. 
Anonymous letters he never read, and those of 
mere abuse or flattery, after receiving a slight 
glance, shared the same reglec'.* 


Notwithstanding all that lias been said, I may say 
that neither the Senator from Delaware (Mr. Clay- 
ton), nor any other who has spoken on the same side, 
has directly and fairly met the great question at 
issue : Is this a federal union ? a union of States, as 
distinct from that of individuals? Is the sovereignty 
in the several States, or in the American people in 
the aggregate? The very language which we are 
compelled to use when speaking of our political in- 
stitutions, affords proof conclusive as to its real cha- 
racter. The terms union, federal, united, all imply 
a combination of sovereignties, a confederation of 
States. They are never applied to an association of 
individuals. Who ever heurd of the United State 
of New York, of Massachusetts, or of Virginia ? Who 
ever heard the term federal or umon applied to the 

* Oration on the Life, Character, and Services of John C. 
Calhoun, by J. II. Hammond : 1S51. Homes of American 
Statesmen, pp. 897-415. 

aggregation of individuals into one community ? Nor 
is the other point less clear — that the sovereignty ia 
in the several States, and that our system is a union 
of twenty-four sovereign powers, under a constitu- 
tional compact, and not of a divided sovereignty be- 
tween the States severally and the United States. 
In spite of all that has been said, I maintain that 
sovereignty is in its nature indivisible. It is the 
supreme power in a State, and we might just aa well 
speak of half a square, or half of a triangle, as of half 
a sovereignty. It is a gross error to confound th« 
exercise of sovereign powers with sovereignty itself, 
or the delegation of such powers with the surrender 
of them. A sovereign may delegate his powers to 
be exercised by as many agents as he may think 
proper, under such conditions and with such limit- 
ations as he may impose ; but to surrender any por- 
tion of his sovereignty to another is to annihilate 
the whole. The Senator from Delaware (Mr. Clay- 
ton) calls this metaphysical reasoning, which he 
says he cannot comprehend. If by metaphysics he 
means that scholastic refinement which makes dis- 
tinctions without difference, no one can hold it in 
more utter contempt than I do ; but if, on the con- 
trary, he means the power of analysis and combi- 
nation — that power which reduces the most complex 
idea into its elements, which traces causes to their 
first principle, and, by the power of generalization 
and combination, unites the whole in one harmonious 
system — then, so far from deserving contempt, it is 
the highest attribute of the human mind. It is the 
power which raises man above the brute — which 
distinguishes his faculties from mere sagacity, which 
he holds in common with inferior animals. It is this 
power which has raised the astronomer from being 
a mere gazer at the stars to the high intellectual 
eminence of a Newton or a Laplace, and astronomy 
itself from a mere observation of insulated facts into 
that noble science which displays to our admiration 
the system of the universe. And shall this high 
power of the mind, which has effected such wonder3 
when directed to the laws which control the mate- 
rial world, be for ever prohibited, under a senseless 
cry of metaphysics, from being applied to the high 
purpose of political science and legislation ? 1 hold 
them to be subject to laws as fixed as matter itself, 
and to be as fit a subject for the application of the 
highest intellectual power. Denunciation may, in- 
deed, fall upon the philosophical inquirer into these 
first principles, as it did upon Galileo and Bacon 
when they first unfolded the great discoveries which 
have immortalized their names ; but the time will 
come when truth will prevail in spite of prejudice 
and denunciation, and when politics and legislation 
will be considered as much a science as astronomy 
and chemistry. 

In connexion with this part of the subject, I un- 
derstood the Senator from Virginia (Mr. Rives) to 
say that sovereignty was divided, and that a portion 
remained with the States severally, and that the 
residue was vested in the Union. By Union, I sup- 
pose the Senator meant the United States. If such 
be his meaning — if he intended to affirm that the 
sovereignty was in the twenty-four States, in what- 
ever light he may view them, our opinions will not 
disagree ; but according to my conception, the whole 
sovereignty is in the several States, while the exer- 
cise of sovereign powers is divided — a part being 
exercised under compact, through this General Go- 
vernment, and the residue through the separate 
State Governments. But if the Senator from Vir- 
ginia (Mr. Rives) means to assert that the twenty- 
four States form but one community, with a single 
sovereign power as to the objects of the Union, it 
will be but the revival of the old question, of whe- 



ther the Union is a union between States, as distinct 
communities, or a mere aggregate of the American 
people, as a mass of individuals; and in this light 
his opinions would lead directly to consolidation. 

But to return to the bill. It is said that the bill 
ought to pass, because the law must be enforced. 
The law must be enforced I The imperial edict must 
be executed ! It is under such sophistry, couched in 
general terms, without looking to the limitations 
which must ever exist in the practical exercise of 
power, that the most cruel and despotic acts ever 
have been covered. It was such sophistry as this 
that cast Daniel into the lion's den, and the three 
Innocents into the fiery furnace. Under the same 
sophistry the bloody edicts of Nero and Caligula 
were executed. The law must be enforced. Yes, 
the act imposing the "tea-tax must be executed." 
This was the very argument which impelled Lord 
North and his administration to that mad career 
which for ever separated us from the British crown. 
Under a similar sophistry, " that religion must be 
protected," how many massacres have been perpe- 
trated ? and how many martyrs have been tied to 
the stake? What! acting on this vague abstraction, 
are you prepared to enforce a law without consi- 
dering whether it be just or unjust, constitutional or 
unconstitutional? Will you collect money when it 
is acknowledged that it is not wanted ? He who 
earns the money, who digs it from the earth with the 
sweat of his brow, has a just title to it against the 
universe. No one has a right to touch it without 
his consent except his government, and this only to 
the extent of its legitimate wants ; to take more is 
robbery, and you propose by this bill to enforce 
robbery by murder. Yes: to this result you must 
come, by this miserable sophistry, this vague ab- 
straction of enforcing the law, without a regard to 
the fact whether the law be just or unjust, consti- 
tutional or unconstitutional. 

In the same spirit, we are told that the Union must 
be preserved, without regard to the means. And 
how is it proposed to preserve the Union? By 
force ! Does any man in his senses believe that this 
beautiful structure — this harmonious aggregate of 
States, produced by the joint consent of all— can be 
preserved by force? Its very introduction will be 
certain destruction to this Federal Union. No, no. 
You cannot keep the States united in their consti- 
tutional and federal bonds by force. Force may, 
indeed, hold the parts together, but such union 
would be the bond between master and slave — a 
union of exaction on one side and of unqualified 
obedience on the other. That obedience which, we 
are told by the Senator from Pennsylvania (Mr. 
Wilkins), is the Union ! Yes, exaction on the side 
of the master; for this very bill is intended to collect 
what can be no longer called taxes — the voluntary 
contribution of a free people — but tribute — tribute 
to be collected under the mouths of the cannon ! 
Your custom-house is already transferred to a gar- 
rison, and that garrison with its batteries turned, not 
against the enemy of your eountry, but on subjects 
(I will not say citizens), on whom you propose to 
levy contributions. Has reason fled from our bor- 
ders? Have we ceased to refleet? It is madness 
to suppose that the Union can be preserved by force. 
I tell you plainly, that the bill, should it pass, cannot 
be enforced. It will prove only a blot upon your 
statute-book, a reproach to the year, and a disgrace 
to the American Senate. I repeat, it will not be 
executed; it will rouse the dormant spirit of the 
people, and open their eyes to the approach of des- 
potism. The eountry has sunk into avarice and 
political corruption, from which nothing can arouse 
t but some measure, on the part of the Government, 

of folly and madness, such as that now under con- 

Disguise it as you may, the controversy is one 
between power and liberty ; and I tell the gentlemen 
who are opposed to me, that, as strong as may be 
the love of power on their side, the love of liberty 
is still stronger on ours. History furnishes many in- 
stances of similar struggles, where the love of liberty 
has prevailed against power under every disadvan- 
tage, and among them few more striking than that 
of our own Revolution ; where, as strong as was the 
parent country, and feeble as were the colonies, yet, 
under the impulse of liberty, and the blessing of 
God, they gloriously triumphed in the contest. 
There are, indeed, many and striking analogies 
between that and the present controversy. They 
both originated substantially in the same cause — 
with this difference — in the present ease, the power 
of taxation is converted into that of regulating in- 
dustry ; in the other, the power of regulating indus- 
try, by the regulation of commerce, was attempted 
to be converted into the power of taxation. Were I 
to trace the analogy further, we should find that the 
perversion of the taxing power, in the one case, has 
given precisely the same control to the Northern 
section over the industry of the Southern section of 
the Union, which the power to regulate commerce 
gave to Great Britain over the industry of the colo- 
nies in the other ; and that the VQi-y articles in which 
the colonies were permitted to have a free trade, 
and those in which the mother-country had a mo- 
nopoly, are almost identically the same as those in 
which the Southern States are permitted to have a 
free trade by the act of 1S32, and in which the 
Northern States have, by the same act, secured a 
monopoly. The only difference is in the means. In 
the former, the colonies were permitted to have a 
free trade with all countries south of Cape Finisterre, 
a cape in the northern part of Spain ; while north 
of that, the trade of the colonies was prohibited, ex- 
cept through the mother-country, by means of her 
commercial regulations. If we compare the pro- 
ducts of the country north and south of Cape Finis- 
terre, we shall find them almost identical with the 
list of the protected and unprotected articles con- 
tained in the act of last year. Nor does the analogy 
terminate here. The very arguments resorted to at 
the commencement of the American Revolution, and 
the measures adopted, and the motives assigned to 
bring on that contest (to enforce the law), are almost 
identically the same. 

Robert Walsh was born in the city of Baltimore 
in 1784. His father was by birth an Irishman, 
bearing the same name ; his mother was of 
Quaker Pennsylvanian origin. He received his 
early education at the Catholic College at Balti- 
more, and the Jesuit College at Georgetown. He 
was sent to Europe after passing through the 
usual school course to complete his education, 
and remained abroad until his twenty-fifth 3'ear, 
when lie returned, married, and commenced the 
practice of the law, having prosecuted his studies 
under the superintendence of Robert Goodloe 
Harper. Owing in part, probably, to his deaf- 
ness, he soon abandoned this profession. 

He commenced his literary career as a writer 
in the Port Folio, and in 1809 published A 
Letter on the Genius and Disposition of the 
French Government, including a View of the 
Taxation of the French Empire, in which he 
commented with severity on the measures of 



Napoleon. It contained a large mass of informa- 
tion respecting the internal economy of the go- 
vernment of Napoleon, which was entirely new 
to English readers. The work was written with 
spirit, and was received with favor not only in 
his own country, but, what was then a rarity, 
in England, where it parsed through four editions, 
and the Edinburgh gave a hearty endorsement to 
its merits in a leading article. 

ftfrfksth 4j&a£4fx 

In 1811 he commenced with the year the pub- 
lication of the first quarterly attempted in Ame- 
rica, The American Review of History and 
Politics. Eight numbers appeared, carrying the 
work through two years. Most of the articles 
were from the pen of the editor. 

In 1813 his Correspondence with Robert Good- 
Toe Harper respecting Russia* and Essay on the 
Future State of Europe appeared. lie also fur- 
nished several biographical prefaces to an edition 
of the English poets,in fifty eighteenmo. volumes, 
then in course of publication in Philadelphia. In 
1817 he became the editor of The American 
Register, a valuable statistical publication, which 
was continued for two years only. In 1818 
he published, in JJelaplaine's Repository, a long 
and elaborate biographical paper on Benjamin 
Franklin, which still remains one of the most 
interesting memoirs of the sage. In 1819 Mr. 
"Walsh published An Appeal from the Judgments 
of Great Britain respecting the United States of 
America. Part First, containing an Historical 
Outline of their Merits and Wrongs as Colonies, 
and Strictures upon the Calumnies of the British 
Writers. This work, forming an octavo volume 
of five hundred and twelve closely printed pages, 
was called forth by the long-continued calumnies 
of the British press, and particularly of the Edin- 
burgh and Quarterly Reviews, in their endoive- 
ments of the foolish and unfounded slanders set 
forth by hasty, ignorant, and irresponsible travel- 
lers through the United States. These reviews, 

* Vida ante, vol. i. 638. 

I representing the deliberate judgment of the two 
great political parties of their country, excited a 

! resentment in American readers which has left 

j its traces to the present day. 

I Mr. Walsh met these assailants with facts drawn 

1 from English testimony of undoubted authority, 
often from previous admissions of the assailants 
themselves. The work is divided into sections 
on the history of the British maladministration 
of the American colonies, " the hostilities of the 
British Reviews,-" and the topic of negro slavery. 
It is careful in its statements, calm in tone, and 
at the same time energetic. It was at once ac- 
cepted as an able vindication by the Americans, 
and did much to mend the manners of the Eng- 
lish journals. 

In 1821 he commenced, with Mr. William Fry, 
the National Gazette, a small newspaper, pub- 
lished on alternate afternoons. It was eoon en- 
larged, and published daily. Mr. Walsh remained 
connected with this journal for fifteen years, and 
during that period did much to enlarge the scope 
of the newspaper literature of the country by 
writing freely and fully upon books, science, and 
the fine arts, as well as politics, and by joining in 
his treatment of the latter topic a little of the 
suaviter in modo, which had hitherto been some- 
what lacking in the American press, b>thefortiter 
in re, which required no increase of intensity. 

Mr. Walsh was also connected with the editor- 
ship of The American Magazine of Foreign Lite- 
rature, the forerunner of the Museum and Liv- 
ing Age of Mr. Littell, but in 1822 resigned 
that charge for the more agreeable task of the 
resuscitation of his original Review. The first 
number of the American Review was published 
in March, 1837. It was continued with great 
ability for ten years, and among its many excel- 
lent qualities is to be commended for its frequent 
and thorough attention to home literature and 
other subjects of national interest. 

In 1837, Mr. Walsh finding the Gazette was fail- 
ing to furnish its former support, retired from it. 
He published, abemt the same time, two volumes 
selected from his contributions to its columns, 
and from article-: sti.l in manuscript, under tho 
title f)f Didactics. He removed in the same year 
to Paris, where he has since resided, filling, until 
a few years since, the post of United States Con- 
sul. He has maintained a constant and promi- 
nent literary connexion with his country by his 
regular foreign correspondence to the National 
Intelligencer, and more recently to the Now York 
Journal of Commerce. 

No American abroad has enjoyed more inti- 
mate relations with the savans and politicians of 
Europe, or has traced with greater interest the 
progress of government and science. 


We should endeavour to poetize our existence ; to 
keep it clear of the material and grosser woilA. 
Music, flowers, verse, beauty, and natural scenery, 
the abstractions of philosophy, the spiritual refine- 
ments of religion are all important to that end. 

Liberty is a boon which few of the European 
nations are worthy to receive or able to enjoy 
When attempts to give it have been vainly mnde, 
let tis, before we speak cf them, inquire whether 
they were practicable. 



We should keep acknowledged evil out of the 
■way of youth and its fealty ; as we would avert 
frost from the blossom, and proteet vegetable or 
animal life of any kind in its immaturity, from 
perilous exposure. 

Maxim for a Republic. — Let the cause of every 
single citizen be the cause of the whole; and the 
cause of the whole be that of every single citizen. 

Real sympnthy and gratitude show themselves, 
not in words and pageants, but acts, sacrifices, which 
directly afford " comfort and consolation." 

Let none of us cherish or invoke the spirit of 
religions fanaticism: — the ally would be quite as 
pestilent as the enemy. 

We should never inquire into the faith or profes- 
sion, religious or political, of our acquaintance ; we 
should be satisfie 1 when wefiiid usefulness, integrity, 
beneficence, tolerance, patriotism, cheerfulness, sense, 
and manners. We encounter every day really good 
men, practical Christians, and estimable citizens, 
belonging respectively to all the sects and classes. 

There is nothing, however good in itself, which 
may not be converted into ." s!;uff," by making a 
jumble of it, and interpolating trash; and there is 
no journalist who may not be represented as incon- 
siste it, no allowance being made for ditferenee of 
times and circumstances, and the just and vivid 
impressions of particular periods and events. 

It is well observed that good morals are not the 
fruit of metaphysical subtleties; nor are good politi- 
cal constitutions or salutary government. Abstrac- 
tions and refinements are far from being enough for 
human nature and human communities. 

Truth should never be sacrificed to nationality ; 
but it is a sort of treason to decry unjustly indi- 
genous pro luctions, exalting at the same time those 
of a foreign country, without due examination or 
real grounds — to pretend national mortification in 
cases to which the opposite sentiment is due. Good, 
instructive literature and general politics need, in 
our country, liberal treatment in every quarter. 
They are subject to obstacles and disadvantages 
enough, without precipitate, sweeping, quackish 

The effusions of genius, or rather, the most suc- 
cessful manifestations of what is called talent, are 
often the effects of distempered nerves and com- 
plexional spleen, as pearls are mo bid secretions. 
How much of his reputation for superiority of intel- 
lect did not Mr. J. Randolph owe to his physical ills 
and misanthropic spirit! 

The more the heart is exercised in the domestic 
affections, the more likely it is to be sympathetic 
and active with regard to external objects. 

There are some human tongues which have two 
sides, like those of certain quadrupeds — one, smooth ; 
the other very rough. 

Restraints laid by a people on itself are sacrifices 
made to liberty ; and it often shows the greatest 
wisdom in imposing them. 

Write as wisely as we may, we cannot fix the 
minds of men upon our writings, unless we take 
them gently by the ear. 

_ Candour is to be always admired, and equivoca- 
tion to be shunned ; but there is such a thing as 
supererogation, and very bold and ingenuous 
avowals may do much more harm than good. 

It is an old saying that it is no small consolation 
to any one who is obliged to work to see another 

voluntarily take a share in his labour: since it 
seems to remove the idea of the constraint. 

It would be well to allow some things to remain, 
as the poet says, "behind eternity; — hid in the 
secret treasure of the past." 

A prudent man ought to be guided by a demon- 
strated probability not less than by a demonstrated 

Men of wit have not always the clearest judgment 
or the deepest reason. 

The perusal of books of sentiment and of descrip- 
tive poetry, and the frequent survey of natural 
scenery, with a certain degree of feeling and fancy, 
must have a most beneficial effect upon the imagina- 
tion and the heart. 

The true Fortunatus's purse is the richness of tha 
generous and tender affections, which are worth 
much more for felicity, than the highest powers 
of the understanding, or the highest favours of 

Henet Wiieatox was a descendant from Robert 
Wheaton, a Baptist clergyman who emigrated in 
the reign of Charles I. to Salem, and afterwards 
removed to Rhode Island. He was born in Pro-, 
vidence, November, 1785, and entered Brown 
University at the age of thirteen. After the 
completion of his course he studied law, and in 
1800 went to Europe, to complete liis education. 


Ho resided for several months at Poitiers, engaged 
in the study of the French language, and of the 
recently established Code Napoleon. He after- 
wards devoted some time to the study of English 
law in London, and was an intimate of the 
American minister, Mr. Monroe. On his return 
he was admitted to the bar, and practised at Pro- 
vidence until 1813, when, in the meanwhile having 
married his cousin, the daughter of Dr. Wheaton 
of the same city, he removed to New York. Before 
his departure, he delivered a fourth of July oration, 
chiefly devoted to a consideration of the wars 
then raging in Europe, of which lie spoke with 
detestation. After his establishment in New 
York he became the editor of the National Ad- 
vocate, which he conducted for two years with 
marked ability. During this period he was ap- 
pointed Judge of the Marine Court, and held for 
a few months the office of Army Judge Advo- 
cate. In 1815 he resumed practice, and in tha 
same year published a Treatise on the Law of 
Maritime Captures and Prizes, regarded as the 
best work which had then appeared on the subject. 
In 1816 he was appointed Reporter of the Su- 
preme Court at Washington, a position which he 
retained until 1827, publishing during his in- 
cumbency twelve volumes of Reports. In 1821 
he was elected a member of the Convention 
called to revise the Constitution of the State of 
New York, and in 1825 was appointed by the 
Legislature one of the commissioners to revise, 
upon a new and systematic plan, all the statute 



laws of the State, a work which engaged his at- 
tention until his appointment by President Adams, 
in 1827, as Charge d' Affaires to Denmark. He 
resided at Copenhagen until 1835, when he was 
appointed Minister Resident to the court of Prus- 
sia by President Jackson. In 1837 he was made 
Minister Plenipotentiary to the same court by 
President Van Buren. He retained this position 
until 1846, when he was recalled by President 

Mr. Wheaton had, previously to his departure 
for Europe, delivered an Address before the New 
York Historical Society in 1820, and in 1824 at the 
opening of the New York Athenaeum, an institu- 
tion afterwards merged into the Society Library. 
He also contributed to the North American Re- 
view, and in 1826 published the Life of Wil- 
liam Pin&ney, with whom he had become per- 
sonally acquainted during his residence at AVash- 
ington. He afterwards prepared an abridgment 
of the work for Sparks's American Biography. 
He also translated the Code Napoleon, the manu- 
script of which was unfortunately consumed by 
fire soon after its completion. 

This valuable literary career, side by side with 
laborious professional and public services, was 
continued with still greater efficiency in Europe. 
In 1831 he published in London The History 
ef the Northmen, a work of great research, and 
one of the first on its subject in the language. 
It was translated into French in 1842, and its 
author was engaged in preparing a new American 
edition at the time of his death. In 1836 his 
Elements of International Law appeared in Eng- 
land and the United States. It was republished 
in 1846 with additions. In 1841 he wrote a 
work in French, Histoire du Droit des Gens de- 
puis la Paix de Westphalie, which was compli- 
mented by the French Institute, republished at 
Leipsic in 1844, and translated in New York, 
with the title of History of the Law of Nations. 
It is regarded as a standard authority, and has 
received the highest commendations throughout 
Europe. In 1842 he published in Philadelphia, 
An Enquiry into the British Claim of a Eight 
of Search of American Vessels. 

In 1843 Mr. Wheaton was made corresponding 
member of the Section of Moral and Political 
Sciences of the French Institute, and in 1844 of 
the Academy of Sciences in Berlin. He took 
great interest in these associations, and enjoyed 
the intimacy of then- most eminent members. 

In 1844 he signed a convention with Baron 
Bulow, the Prussian Minister of Foreign Affairs, 
regulating the commercial intercourse between 
the United States and theZollverein, on which he 
had labored for several years. It was, greatly to 
Ms regret, rejected by the Senate. 

The long residence of Mr. Wheaton at one of 
the leading courts of Europe, combined with his 
extensive studies in international law, caused him 
to be frequently consulted by the representatives 
of his country in other parts of Europe, and he 
thus rendered eminent public services beyond the 
range of his own mission. He was universally 
regarded as the head of our foreign diplomacy, 
and his recall was lamented by considerate men of 
all parties as a national misfortune. 

After a few months' residence in Paris, he re- 
turned in May, 1847, to New York, where a 

public dinner was given him soon after his arrival. 
A similar honor was tendered him in Philadelphia, 
but declined. His native city had his portrait 
painted by Healy, and placed in her council hall. 
He delivered an address in September of the 
same year before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of 
Brown University, on the Progress and Prospects 
of Germany. He was about to commence his duties 
as Professor of International Law at Harvard 
University, to which he had been elected soon 
after his return, when he was attacked by a dis- 
ease which closed his life, on the eleventh of 
March, 1848. 

Robert, the second son of the Hon. Henry 
"Wheaton, was born in New York, October 5, 
1826. His childhood was passed in Copenhagen, 
whither his father removed as Charge d' Affaires 
of the United States shortly after his birth. In 
1836 the family removed to Berlin, and in 1838, 
Robert, after a careful course of preliminary 
mental training by his father, was placed at 
school at Paris. In 1840 he lost his only brother 
Edward, a bereavement which afflicted him 
deeply. In 1841 he left school, and devoted two 
years to the study of engineering with a private 
tutor. Owing, however, to apprehensions that 
his health was too delicate for the out-door ex- 
posure incident to the practical duties of the pro- 
fession, he abandoned it in 1843, and entered the 
school of MM. Barbe and Masson at Paris. 
After a year spent in classical studies he attended 
lectures at the Sorbonne and the College de 
France. He was at the same time cultivating his 
fine musical taste, and became a proficient in the 
science. His summers were passed in visits to 
his family at Berlin, and to friends in a few other 
cities of central Europe. In April, 1847, after 
his father's recal, he returned with him to the 
United States, and in the following September 
entered the Cambridge law school. On the com- 
pletion of his course in 1850, he became a student 
in the office of Messrs. Dana and Parker of Bos- 
ton, and in July, 1851, was admitted to practice. 
In the September following, while on his way to 
visit his family at Providence, he took cold, 
owing to exposure in consequence of the cars 
running off the track. His illness rapidly in- 
creased, and on the ninth of October, 1851, he 
breathed his last. 

A volume of Selections from the Writings of 
Robert Wheaton appeared in 1854. It contains 
a sympathetic memoir of his brief but interesting 
life, with extracts from his journals and cor- 
respondence, and articles on the Sources of the 
Divina Commedia, Jasmin, Coquerel's Experi- 
mental Christianity, the Revolutions in Prussia 
and Sicily, and on a few other subjects, from the 
North American Review, and other periodicals, 
all ably and thoughtfully written. 

CHAELES J. INGEESOIX. J. Ingersoll was born at Philadelphia 
on the third of October, 1782. His father, Jared 
Ingersoll, though belonging to a family who for 
the most part adhered to the Royalists in the 
Revolutionary contest (his father, Jared Ingersoll, 
of Connecticut, being Stampinaster-General under 
the Act of Parliament which provoked the Ame- 
rican Revolution), was an active advocate of the 



popular side, and a member of the Convention 
which formed the Federal Constitution. He early 
settled in Philadelphia. 

Mr. Ingersoll received a liberal education, and 
on its conclusion visited Europe, where he tra- 
velled in company with Mr. King, the American 
minister to London. 

In 1801, a tragedy from his pen, Edwy and 
Elgiva, was produced at the Philadelphia theatre, 
and published. 

In 1808 he wrote a pamphlet on the Eights 
and Wrongs, Power and Policy of the United 
States of America, in defence of the commercial 
measures of Jefferson's administration. 

In 1809 he published anonymously a work 
which created a sensation, Inchiquirfs Letters* 
The " Letters" are introduced by the ancient 
mystification of the purchase, at a bookseller's 
stall in Antwerp, of a broken picket of letters 
from America, which turn out to be sent from 
Washington by Inchiquin, a Jesuit, to his friends 
in Europe, who, in one or two introductory 
epistles, express the greatest anxiety touching 
his mission to a land of savages, with consi- 
derable curiosity respecting the natives. A bur- 
lesque letter from Caravan, a Greek at Wash- 
ington, gives a ludicrous account of the perils 
of the capital, and the foreign minister hunting 
in its woods. Inchiquin describes the houses of 
Congress and their oratory ; runs over the cha- 
racters of the Presidents, from Washington to 
Madison; the literature of Barlow's Coluinbiad 
and Marshall's Washington ; the stock and popu- 
lation of the country ; its education, amusements, 
resources, and prospects. The Columbiad is 
shrewdly criticised. One remark will show the 
pretensions, at that time, of the author. " Criti- 
cally speaking, Homer, Virgil, and Milton occupy 
exclusively the illustrious (epic) quarter of Par- 
nassus, and time alone can determine whether 
Barlow shall be seated with them. The ' dearth 
of invention,' ' faintness of the characters,' ' lack 
of pathos,' and other ' constitutional defects,' are 
set off against the learned, benevolent, elegant 
style of the performance." The Abbe Eaynal 
is quoted for a maximum calculation of the pros- 
pective population of America at ten millions. 
Among other patriotic hits there is a humorous 
account of the foreign prejudiced or disappointed 
travellers who, in those days, gave the world its 
impressions of America. 

In 1812 Ingersoll was elected a member of the 
House of Eepresentatives. He took his seat at 
the special session called in May, 1813, to pro- 
vide for the conduct of the war. He was one of 
the youngest members of that body, and more 
, youthful in appearance even than in years, so 
that at his first entrance the doorkeeper refused 
him admittance. He was an earnest advocate of 
every measure brought forward for the vigor- 
ous prosecution of the war. In 1814, in an 
elaborate speech, he proclaimed and enforced the 
American version of the law of nations, that 

* Inchiquin the Jesuit's Letters, during a late residence in 
the United States of America: being a fragment of a Private 
Correspondence, accidentally discovered in Europe; contain- 
ing a favorable view of the Manners, Literature, and State of 
Society of the United States, and a refutation of many of the 
aspersions cast upon this country by former residents and 
tourists. By some unknown foreigner. New York : J. Riley. 

I " free ships make free goods," a doctrine which, 
now generally recognised as a great peace mea- 
sure, had at that time few advocates. On 
the expiration of his term of service the same 
3'ear he was not re-elected, but was soon after 
appointed by Madison District Attorney of the 
State of Pennsylvania, an office which he held for 
fourteen years, until his removal by General 
Jackson at the commencement of his first Pre- 
sidential term. During his second term, his 
administration had the warm support of Mr. 
Ingersoll. In 1826, at a convention of the ad- 
vocates of the internal improvements of his state, 
Ingersoll presented a resolution in favor of the 
introduction of railroads worked by steam-power, 
similar to those which had just made their appear- 
ance in England. The plan was rejected by a 
large majority. As a member of the Legislature, 
a few years after, in 1820-30, one of the first 
railroad bills in the United States was enacted on 
his motion and report. 

In 1837, by a report on currency, presented to 
the convention for reforming the Constitution of 
Pennsylvania, he anticipated by some months 
President Van Buren's recommendation to Con- 
gress of the Independent Treasury. He was an 
active member of the House of Eepresentatives 
from 1839 to 1849. 

C / JJo^jeA46lt' 

In 1845 he published the first volume of his 
Historical Sketch of the Second War between the 
United States of America and Great Britain, 
embracing the events of 1812-13, completing the 
work in three volumes. A second series, of 
the events of 1814-1815, appeared in 1852. The 
style of his history is irregular and discursive, 
but vivid and energetic. Its general character is 
that of a book of memoirs, strongly influenced by 
the democratic partisan views of the narrator. 
It contains numerous details of the principles and 
measures of public policy in which he was an 
eminent participant, with many matters of a more 
strictly personal character, especially in his ac- 
count of the Bonaparte family, of whom, from his 
long friendship with Joseph Bonaparte, he had 



original sources of information. Some three hun- 
dred pages of the " History" are thus occupied 
-with the fortunes of the Napoleon dynasty. One 
of the most noteworthy of the American topics 
discussed is the defence of the system of privateer- 
ing which has been since substantially set forth 
by President Pierce, in his Message of 1854. 
There are also, among other personal anecdotes, 
some animated descriptions of Washington and of 

Mr. Ingersoll is at present engaged on a History 
of the Territorial Acquisitions of the United 

Joseph Reed Ingersoll, the brother of Charles 
J. Ingersoll, a distinguished lawyer, for many 
years a prominent Whig in the House of Repre- 
sentatives^ the author of a translation of Roccus's 
treatise De Naoibus et Nmito, of an address deli- 
vered in 1837 before the Phi Beta Kappa Society 
of Bowduin College on The Advantages of 
Science and Literature, which attracted much 
attention, and of several other discourses of a 
similar character. 

Edward, a third brother of the same family, 
wrote poems on the times entitled Horace i:i 
Philadelphia, which appeared in the Port Folio, 
and a writer on political subjects ill Walsh's 


The labors of this class of writing travellers in 
America have been seconded by those uf another, 
who, as their writings are confined to bills of ex- 
change and accounts current, have contented them- 
selves with being oral haberdashers of small stories, 
and retailers of ribaldry. Swarms of noxious in- 
sects swept from the factories and spungh g-houses 
of Europe, .after enjoying a full harvest of emolu- 
ment and importance in the cities of this country, 
return to tiieir original insignificance at home, to 
buzz assertions through their " little platoons of 
society," and then come back again to bask in the 
sunshine they feign to slight. Apprentices and 
understrappers, mo grel abbes and genu d'industric, 
in the course of their flight over the Atlantic, are 
transmuted into fine gentlemen and virtuosi, shocked 
at the barbarian customs of this savage republic; 
the hospitality of whose citizens they condescend to 
accept, while they commiserate and calumniate their 
hosts, and consider it their especial errand and 
office to vilify, disturb, and overturn the govern- 
ment. The time was when these sturdy beggars 
walked without knocking into every door, taking 
the chief scats in the synagogue, and the uppermost 
rooms at feasts, devouring widows' houses, reviling 
with impunity the food they fed on. But so many 
ludicrous and so many serious explosions have gone 
off of these transatlantic bubbles, so many indivi- 
duals have been put to shame, so many respectable 
families to ruin, by their polluting contact, that the 
delusion is broke, and they begin to be seen in their 
essential hideousness. Persons of condition from 
abroad have so often proved to be hostlers and foot- 
men, and men of learning mountebank doctors, 
that the Americans find it necessary to shake these 
forc ; ga vermin f;om their skirts, and to assert a 
dignity and self-respect, which are the first steps to 
that consideration from others, hitherto by this 
excrescent usurpation repelled from their society, 

IIlc nigrie succus loliginis, haec est 
jLrugo rocra ■ 

At the inn, where I lodged on my first arrival, it 

was my fobttune to be assorted at every meal with 
half a dozen agents from the manufacturing towns 
of England, some Frenchmen exiled from tit. Do- 
mingo, a Dutch supercargo, a Chinese mandarin — as 
a caitiff from Canton entitled himself — the young 
Greek, a copy of one of whose letters I sent you 
some time ago, and a countryman of mire; all of 
whom, after a plentiful regale, and drinking each 
other's healths till their brains were addled with 
strong liquors, would almost every day chime into 
a general execration of the fare, climate, customs, 
people, and institutions of this nether region. One 
of the Englishmen, a native of Cornwall, who was 
never out of a mist in his life till he left the parish 
of his birth, complained of the variableness of the 
weather, another of the beef, and a third of the 
porter, alleviations, without which they pronounced 
existence insupportable, takiig care to accompany 
their complaints with magnificent eulogiums on the 
clear sky, cheap living, and other equally unques- 
tionable advantages of their own country, with 
occasional intimations thrown in of their personal 
importance at home. The Creole French, in a bas- 
tard dialect, declaimed at the dishonesty and fickle- 
ness of the Americans, the demureuess of their man- 
ners, and provoking irregularity of the language: 
winding up their philippic with a rapturous recol- 
lection of the charms of Paris; where in all proba- 
bility no one of them ever was, except to obtain pass- 
ports for leaving the kingdom. 

They talk of beauties that they never saw, 
And fancy raptures that they never knew. 

The Chinese, who never was free from a sweat till 
he doubled the Cape of Good Hope, and who, when 
in Canton, never forgot in his prayers to implore the 
blessings of a famine or pestilence, catching the con- 
tagion of the company, and mechanically imitative, 
though he could not speak so as to be understood, 
endeavored, by signs and shrugs, to show that he 
suffered from the heat, and gave us to understand 
that an annual plague must be inevitable in such a 
climate. The Irishman, who swallowed two bottles 
of claret with a meal, besides brandy and malt 
liquors, swore the intemperate weather gave him 
fevers. The Hollander smoked his phlegmatic pipe 
in silence, looking approbation ; and the complying 
Greek nodded assent, while at table, to every syl- 
lable that was uttered, though he afterwards coin- 
cided with me in a contradiction of the whole. 
"When I was formerly in America, I knew several 
foreigners, then well stricken in years, who had 
resided here since the peace of 1783, always grum- 
bling over the privations of this country, and sigh- 
ing as usual; but fat and satisfied, and indulging not 
the least expectation of ever exchanging their for- 
lorn state here for their brilliant prospects else- 
where. Like a well-fed curate, they dwell for ever 
on the fascinations of futurity, as contrasted with 
the wretchedness of mortality, recommending all 
good men to hasten from the one to the other, but 
without any wish for themselves to leave this world 
of tribulation. 


Lewis Cass, the son of Jonathan Cass, a soldier 
of the Revolution, was born at Exeter, New Hamp- 
shire, October 9, 1782, He was a schoolfellow 



of Daniel Webster. At the age of seventeen, 
after having received an ordinary English educa- 
tion in his native placj, he crossed the Allegha- 
nies on foot and settled in Marietta, Ohio. In 
1807 he was elected a member of the state legis- 
lature, where he introduced a bill which led to the 
arrest of Colonel Burr and the defeat of his plans. 
He was appointed about the same time Marshal 
of the State by Jefferson, an office which he re- 
signed in 1811 to take part as a volunteer to repel 
the attacks of the Indians on the northern fron- 
tier. In 1812 he entered the United States army. 
He served with distinction at Detroit, and after- 
wards at the Battle of the Thames, and was ap- 
pointed Governor of the territory of Michigan in 
1813 by Madison, a position which he held until 
his appointment as Secretary of War by General 
Jackson in 1831. In this period, in 1S19 and 
1820, he projected and was engaged in carrying 
into effect a scientific exploration of the upper 
region of the Mississippi, which has identified his 
name permanently with the geography of the 
country. In 1836 he was appointed Minister to 
France, where ho rendered important service in 
opposing the admission of the right of search in 
the quintuple treaty for the suppression of the 
Slave Trade. In consequence of oppo -ition to the 
treaty made with Great Britain on this subject 
in 1842, which he regarded as involving his of- 
ficial position, he requested a recall and returned 
home. He published, in 1840, a volume entitled 
France, its King, Court, and Governrne it, of his- 
toric interest for its sketch of the travels of Louis 
Philippe in America, which the minister had lis- 
tened to from the lips of the royal adventurer at the 
Tuileries. Mr. Cass also contributed to the South- 
ern Literary Messenger several papers on Canilia 
and Cyprus. In 1843 he was elected United 
States Senator from Michigan, but resigned his 
seat in May on his nomination as the candidate of 
the Democratic party for the Presidency. 
the election of General Taylor he was in 1840 re- 
elected to the Senate for the unexpired portion of 
his term, and still remainsa member of that body. 
In 1848 be delivered an address before the New 
England Society of Michigan at Detrc ir, which 
was published at the time. In this eloquent dis- 
course he thus contra ts the past of the old world 
■with the present and future of America. 

The hardy emigrant is ascending the passes of the 
Bucky Mountains, and a. ready the forest is giving 
way before the axe of the woodsman on the very 
shores that look out upon China and Japan. In 
many portions of the old world, and in the oldest too, 
time has done its work. History has closed its re- 
cord. Their high places have a world-renown in 
human annals, but they are solitudes. The pilgrim 
from other lands may go up to visit them, but it is 
for what they have been, and not for what they are. 
It is not to survey a prosperous country and a happy 
people ; but to meditate upon the instability of hu- 
man power, where the foundations of power were 
the deepest and the broadest. I have seen the wan- 
dering Arab, the descendant of Ishmael, sittii.g upon 
the ruins of Baalbeek, himself a ruin, not less marked 
and melancholy than they. Think you that visions 
of far away splendor passed before his eyes, and shut 
out the prospect of that wretchedness, which has 
bowed down his race for centuries ? Think you that 
such dreams" waking though they may be, can give 
back to him his vale of Coslo-Syria, covered with 

green pastures and rich flocks and herds, as in the 
days of the Patriarch? No, it is better to look round 
on prosperity than back on glory. The events of 
ages elsewhere seem here to be compressed within 
the ordinary life of man. Our birth is of yesterday; 
our growth of to-day. We have no past. No monu- 
ments, that have come down to us, glorious in their 
ruins, t ell i c g the story of former magnificence in the 
very solitude, that tells the story of present decay. 
Sometimes the shadows of bygone daj T s pass over 
me. and I awake as from a dream, asking myself, is 
this great country, north of the Ohio and west of 
these broad Lakes, teeming with life, liberty, and 
prosperity ; is this the country I entered half a cen- 
tury ago, shut out f om the light of heaven by the 
primitive forests that covered it? Is this the coun- 
try, which then contained one territory, and which 
now contains five States of this Union ; whose popu- 
lation then numbered a few thousands, and now 
numbers five millions of people? And these flourish- 
ing towns, animated with the busy hum of industry, 
where they are, can I have slept under gigantic 
trees, throwing their broad branches over an un- 
broken soil? Ami the railroad, docs it follow the 
war path, where I have followed the Indian ? And 
the church bell, which summons a Christian com- 
munity to prayer and to praise in the house of God, 
how brief the interval, since the solitude was broken 
by the war drum and the war song? We are real- 
izing the fictions of Eastern imagination, and a better 
genius than him of Aladdin's lamp, the genius of in- 
dustry and enterprise, is dob g that mighty work, 
whose ultimate issue it is not given to human saga- 
city to foretell. 


Thomas n.\i:T Bex-ton was born in Orange 
county, North Carolina, in 1783. He was edu- 
cated, but did not complete the full course, at the 
college at Chanel Hill. After leaving this insti- 
tution be studied law with Mr. St. George Tucker, 
entered the United States army in 1810, and in 



Wct&t-cta^ ' J^PZet^pt 


1811 commenced the practice of the law in 



Nashville, Term. Following the example of his 
family, both on the father's and mother's side, 
who had been active in the promotion of western 
emigration, he soon afterwards removed to Mis- 
souri, where, in 1820, he was elected one of her 
first United States Senators. In the interval of 
a year between his election and the admission of 
the state, he devoted himself to the study of the 
Spanish language, and to a preparation for the 
vigorous fulfilment of his duties. He took his 
seat in the Senate August 10, 1821, and retained 
it, by constant re-election, for the long period of 
thirty years, during which he took a leading 
part in the discus-ion of the great questions 
which came before that body, and was especially 
prominent in the debates on the United States 
Bank and the Sub-Treasury, being a warm friend 
of the latter measure. 

Colonel Benton's moderate course on the slavery 
question not being approved by the majority of 
the Senate of his state, and his independent 
course on other questions as well having added 
to the number of his enemies as well as his 
friends, he lost his election to the Senate in 1851. 
He offered himself at the next popular election as 
a candidate for the House of Representatives, and 
was successful. In 1854 he was, however, de- 
feated — members of the Democratic party having 
united with and elected the candidate of the 
"Whigs. In 1853 Colonel Benton published the 
first volume of his autobiographic work, Thirty 
Years' View ; or a History of the Working of the 
American Government fur Thirty Years, from 
1820 to 1850. The thirty years is the period of 
Mr. Benton's senatorship. extending from the 
Presidency of Madi-on to that of Fillmore. The 
plan of the work, giving to a great mass of material, 
simplicity and clearness, is simply to treat in 
chronological order, in one view, the leading 
epochs of each question, connecting it with some 
memorable personage or crisis of debate. This is 
done by a disposition of the matter, in short, 
well discriminated chapters, easily referred to in 
a table of contents ; devoted mainly to the imme- 
diate proceedings of Congress, but relieved by 
such episodes of a personal character as obituaries, 
or retirement from office of eminent actors on the 
scene. Thus there are chapters on the Admis- 
sion of Missouri, on the Panama Mission, the 
Retirement of Rufus King, the arrival of La 
Fayette, the Deaths of Adams and Jefferson. 
The book is thus a succession of historical 
tableaux. In one point of view it is highly com- 
mendable, for its clear succinct narrative — the 
ease and bonhommie of the style. It is fluent 
without being diffuse, and exhibits the result of 
a long habit of imparting important information 
in the readiest and most intelligible way. 

In addition to the ordinary narrative of events, 
which might be looked for in a view of the times, 
the book has two specialities in the reprint of 
the anthor's speeches bearing on the subjects, 
or of such portions of them as he still chooses to 
adopt, and the use of the unpublished papers of 
General Jackson which are to be drawn upon. 

Mr. Benton's opportunities as an actor and 
eye-witness, give him great advantages in this 
species of historical memoir — for such it is, 
neither exactly history nor biography. In his 
preface he quotes Macaulay, and justly claims the 

prestige of his experience in public affairs for his 
work. If Gibbon, and Fox, and Mackintosh, 
wrote better for being Parliament men, Mr. Ben- 
ton can set forth as well for his story the g-xou'wm 
pars magna fui. " I was," says he, " in the 
Senate the whole time of which I write — an 
active, business member, attending and attentive 
— in the confidence of half the administrations, 
and a close observer of the others — had an inside 
view of transactions of which the public saw only 
the outside, and of many of which the two sides 
were very different — saw the secret springs and 
hidden machinery by which men and parties were 
to be moved, and measures promoted or thwarted 
— saw patriotism and ambition at their respective 
labors, and was generally able to discriminate 
between them." 

"While the second volume was in progress, early 
in 1855, Mr. Benton's house at Washington was 
destroyed by fire, and his library and manuscripts 
perished in the flames. A letter which he wrote 
to his publishers will show the prospects of the 
work, and the prominent characteristics of the 
man in energy and literary industry. 

Washington City, March 2, 1855. 
Messrs. D. Appleton t£' Co. : 

Gentlemen : It is not necessary to tell you what 
has happened, cela va sans dire. The point is, the 
effect — and what is to be done. The answer is, first, 
it will more than double my labor ; next, it will de- 
lay the second volume say six months, or until the 
spring of 1856; third, there are some things lost 
which cannot be replaced, but which were chiefly 
for a posthumous volume, not coming under our 
present agreement — most of it composed of corres- 
pondence, such as I had deemed worthy, both for 
the character of the writers and the matter, to go to 
posterity. For the rest, I go to work immediately 
(after my return from St. Louis), and work inces- 

Yours truly 

Thomas H. Benton. 

Mr. Benton's style as an orator is calm, full, 
and dignified. He speaks with ease, displays his 
subject with practised art ; is indefatigable in the 
collection of his material, and convincing in its 
use. His devotion of late to the advancement of 
discovery and civilization in the great West, 
coupled with the labors of his son-in-law Fre- 
mont, have added a general interest to his more 
strictly Congressional reputation. His advocacy 
of the Pacific Railroad, and other measures, con- 
nects his name with scientific progress. 



Philosophic in his temperament and wise in his 
conduct, governed in all his actions by reason and 
judgment, and deeply embued with Bible images, 
this virtuous and patriotic man (whom Mr. Jefferson 
called " the last of the Romans") had long fixed the 
term of his political existence at the age which the 
Psalmist assigns for the limit of manly life : " The 
days of our years are threescore years and ten ; and 
if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet 
is their strength labor and sorrow, for it is soon cut 
off, and we fly away." He touched that age in 
1828 ; and true to all his purposes, he was true to 
his resolve in this, and executed it with the quietude 
and indifference of an ordinary transaction. He was 
in the middle of a third senatorial term, and in the 



full possession of all his faculties of mind and body ; 
but his time for retirement had come — -the time fixed 
by himself, but fixed upon conviction and for well 
considered reasons, and inexorable to him as if 
fixed by fate. To the friends who urged him to 
remain to the end of his term, and who insisted that 
his mind was as good as ever, he would answer, 
that it was good enough yet to let him know that 
he ought to quit office before his mind quit him, and 
that he did not mean to risk the fate of the Arch- 
bishop of Grenada. He resigned his senatorial 
honors as he had worn them — meekly, unostenta- 
tiously, iu a letter of thanks and gratitude to the 
General Assembly of his State ; — and gave to repose 
at home that interval of thought and quietude 
which every wise man would wish to place between 
the turmoil of life and the stillness of eternity. He 
had nine years of this tranquil enjoyment, and 
died without pain or suffering June 29th, 1837, — 
characteristic in death as in life. It was eight 
o'clock in the morning when he felt that the supreme 
hour had come, had himself full-dressed with his 
habitual neatness, walked in the room and lay upon 
the bed, by turns conversing kindly with those who 
were about him, and showing by his conduct that 
he was ready and waiting, but hurrying nothing. It 
was the death of Socrates, all but the hemlock, and 
in that full faith of which the Grecian sage had only 
a glimmering. He directed his own grave on the 
point of a sterile ridge (where nobody would wish to 
plough), and covered with a pile of rough flint- 
stone (which nobody would wish to build with), 
deeming this sterility and the uselessness of this rock 
the best security for that undisturbed repose of the 
bones which is still desirable to those who are indif- 
ferent to monuments. 

In almost all strongly-marked characters there is 
usually some incident or sign, in early life, which 
shows that character, and reveals to the close ob- 
server the type of the future man. So it was with 
Mr. Mncon. His firmness, his patriotism, his self- 
denial, his devotion to duty and disregard of office 
and emolument; his modesty, integrity, self-control, 
and subjection of conduct to the convictions of rea- 
son and the dictates of virtue, all so steadily exem- 
plified in a long life, were all shown from the early 
age of eighteen, iu the miniature representation of 
individual action, and only confirmed in the subse- 
quent public exhibitions of a long, beautiful, and 
exalted career. 

Henry 1 Alexander Soammelt, Dearborn was 
born at Exeter, New Hampshire, in 1783. He 
was the son ol General Dearborn, an officer in 
the American Revolution, the author of a MS. 
journal of his expedition to Canada, imprisonment 
in Quebec, expedition to Wyoming, and other ad- 
ventures during the war, printed in his life by 
Ms son. lie was afterwards Secretary of War 
during Jefferson's administration, served in the 
war of 1312, and was made minister to Portugal. 
Henry Dearborn was educated at William and 
Mary College, studied law, and practised at Sa- 
lem, Massachusetts. He subsequently removed 
to Portland, where he superintended the erection 
of the forts in the harbor. He was appointed 
Collector of Boston by Madison, and at the com- 
mencement of the war of 1812 commanded the 
troops in Boston harbor. He was a member of 
the convention called to revise the constitution of 
the state in 1821, and in 1829 a representative 
from Eoxbury, and from 1831 to 1833 member 

of Congress from the Norfolk District. In 184T 
he was chosen Mayor of Roxbury, an office ha 
retained until his death, July 29, 1851. 

General Dearborn published, in 1819, a Memoir 
on fke Commerce of the Black Sea, in two vols. 
8vo., with a quarto volume of maps (Boston) ; in 
1839, Letters on the Internal Improvements and 
Commerce of the West (Boston) ; and was also the 
author of a Biography of Commodore Bainbridge, 
and of his father. 

The author of the lively sketches of French so- 
ciety in that attractive book The American in. 
Paris, was a native of Pennsylvania, born in Car- 
lisle in 1783. He first studied the classics (favor- 
ite passages of which, at the close of his life, he 
interwove in his essays with happy effect) with a 
clergyman of his region, travelling some seven 
miles from home daily for his instruction. In 1806 
he studied law at Philadelphia, but requiring a 
means of immediate support became a teacher 
in the Clermont Seminary, afterwards marrying 
the daughter of the principal, John T. Carre, and 
becoming a partner in the enterprise. He con- 
tributed to the Port Folio, and wrote occasion- 
ally for the Aurora. The Lives of the Signers of 
the Declaration of Independence, published in 
1820, were written by himself and his brother. 
Our author's share of this work was the compo- 
sition of the first and second volumes. In 1833 
he defended his favorite classical literature, as a 
branch of study, in the letters signed Bobertjeot, 
directed against a plan of education proposed for 
the Girard College. His health failing he em- 
barked for Havre in the summer of 1835, and re- 
mained in Paris nearly a year, writing the series 
of descriptive papers which he afterwards pub- 
lished in 1838, entitled Sketches of Paris: in Fa- 
miliar Letters to his Friends, by an American 
Gentleman. He also visited England before his 
return, of which he commenced a similar account 
in several papers in the Knickerbocker Magazine. 

Returning to America he taught the Greek and 
Latin languages in the Philadelphia High-School. 
Though broken in health he maintained a habit 
of cheerfulness, exercising his talent in humor 
and sarcasm. Griswold, who saw him in his last 
days, speaks of his mirth and tenderness, and 
fondness for his daughter, and his cherished re- 
collections of his departed wife.* He died at 
Philadelphia, April 5, 1844. 

The peculiar merit of his Sketches of Paris 
consists in their light French tone of enjoyment. 
He caught the spirit of the place and admirably 
transfused it into the style of his letters, mingled 
with quotations from Ovid and, Horace, and with 
an occasional freedom of expression borrowed 
from the gay memories of the capital of which he 
was writing. 


If a gentleman comes to Paris in the dog-days, 
when his countrymen are spread over Europe, at 
watering-places and elsewhere, and when every soul 
of a French man is out of town — if he is used to love 
his friends at home, and be loved by them, and to 
see them gather around him in the* evenings — let 

* Biog. Notice, Prose Writers of America. 



him not set a foot in that unnatural thing, a bache- 
lor's apartment in a furnished hotel, to live alone, to 
eat alone, and to sleep alone ! If he does, let him 
take leave of his wife and children, and settle up his 
affairs. Nor let him seek company at the Tavern 
Ordinary; here the guest arrives just at the hour, 
hangs up his hat, sits down in his usual place, cross- 
es his legs, runs his fingers through his hair, dines, 
and then disappears, all the year round, without 
farther acquaintance. But let him look out a " Pen- 
sion," having an amiable landlady, or, which is the 
same, amiable lodgers. He will become domiciliated 
here after some time, and find some relief from one 
of the trying situations of life. You know nothing 
yet, happily, of the solitude, the desolation of a po- 
pulous chj to a stranger. How often did I wish, 
during the first three months, for a cot by the side 
of some hoar hill of the Mahonoy. Go to a " Pen- 
sion," especially if you are a suckling child, like me, 
in the ways of the world ; and the lady of the house, 
usually a pretty woman, will feel it enjoined upon 
her humanity to counsel and protect you, and com- 
fort you, or she will manage a:i acquaintance be- 
tween you and some countess or baroness, who lodges 
with her, or at some neighbor's. I live now with a 
most spiritual little creature ; she tells me so many 
obliging lies, and no offensive truths, which I take 
to be the perfection of politeness in a landlady ; and 
she admits me to her private parties — little family 
"re-unions" — where I play a; loto with Madame 
Thomas, and her three amiable daughters, just for a 
little cider, or cakes, or chestnuts, to keep up the 
spirit of the play ; and then we have a song, a solo 
on the violin, or harp, and then a dance ; and Dual- 
ly, we play at little games, which inflict kisses, em- 
braces, and other such penalties. French people are 
always so merry, whatever be the amusement; they 
never let conversation flag, and I don't see any rea- 
son it should. One, for example, begins to talk of 
Paris, then the Passage Panorama, then of Mrs. Alex- 
ander's fine cakes, and then the pretty girl that sits 
behind the counter, and then of pretty girls that sit 
anywhere ; and so one just lets oneself run with the 
association of ideas, or one makes a digression from 
the main story, and returns or not, just as one pleas- 
es. A Frenchman is always a mimic, an actor, and 
all that nonsense which we suffer to go to waste in 
our country, he economises for the enjoyment of 

I am settled down in the family; I am adopted ; 
the lady gives me to be sure now and then " a chance," 
as she calls it, of a ticket in a lottery ("the only one 
left"), of some distinguished lady now reduced, or 
some lady who has had three children, and is likely 
for the fourth, where one never draws anything ; or 
" a chance" of conducting her and a pretty cousin of 
hers, who has taken a fancy to me, who adores the 
innocency of American manners, and hates the dis- 
sipation of the French, to the play. Have you never 
felt the pleasure of letting yourself be duped ? Have 
you never felt the pleasure of letting your little bark 
float down the stream when you knew the port lay 
the other way. I look upon all this as a cheap re- 
turn for the kindnesses I have so much need of; I 
am anxious to be cheated, and the truth is, if you 
do not let a French landlady cheat you now and 
then, she will drop your acquaintance. Never dis- 
pute any small items overcharged in her monthly 
bill ; or she that was smooth as the ermine will be 
suddenly bristled as the porcupine; and why, for 
the sake of limiting some petty encroachment upon 
your purse, should you turn the bright heaven of 
her pretty face into a hurricane? Your actions 
should always leave a suspicion you are rich, and 
then you are sure she will anticipate every want and. 

wish you may have with the liveliest affection ; she 
will be all ravishment at your successes ; she will 
be in an abyss of chagrin at your disappointments. 
Helas ! oh, mon Dieu ! and if you cry, she will cry 
with you! AVe love money well enough in Ame- 
rica, but we do not feel such touches of human kind- 
ness, and cannot worlt ourselves up into such fits of 
amiability, for those who have it. I do not say it 
is hypocrisy; a Frenchwoman really does love you 
if you have a long purse ; and if you have not (I do 
not say it is hypocrisy neither), she really does hate 

A great advantage to a French landlady is the 
sweetness and variety of her smile; a quality in 
which Frenchwomen excel universally. Our Ma- 
dame Gibou keeps her little artillery at play during 
the whole of the dinner-time, and has brought her 
smile under such a discipline as to suit it exactly to 
the passion to be represented, or the dignity of the 
person with whom she exchanges looks. You can 
tell any one who is in arrears as if you were her 
private secretary, or the wealth and liberality of a 
guest better than his banker, by her smile. If it be 
a surly knave who counts the pennies with her, the 
little thing is strai gled in its birth ; and if one who 
owes his meals, it miscarries altogether; and for a 
mere visiter she lets off one worth oaly three francs 
and a half; but if a favorite, who never looks into 
the particulars of her bill and takes her lottery tick- 
ets, then you will see the whole heaven of her face 
in a blaze, and it does not expire suddenly, but like 
the fine twilight of a summer evening, dies away 
gently on her lips. Sometimes I have seen one flash 
out like a squib, and leave you at once in the dark ; 
it had lit on the wrong person ; and at other times 
I have seen one struggling long for its life ; I have 
watched it while it was gasping its last; she has a 
way too of knocking a smile on the head ; I observed 
one at dinner to-day, from the very height and bloom 
of health fall down and die without a kick. 

Selleck Oseop.n was born at Trumbull, Fairfield 
County, Conn., in the year 1783. He received 
the rudiments of an ordinary English education, 
and at the age of twelve was placed in a news- 
paper printing-office at Danbury. During his ap- 
prenticeship he wrote several short poems, and 
shortly after its expiration, on his attaining the 
age of twenty-one, became the editor of a Jefter- 
sonian paper called the Witness. The federalists 
were largely in the majority in the county, and 
the journal, which was conducted in a violent 
tone, had many enemies. One of these sued for 
an alleged libel which appeared in its columns. 
The editor was found guilty, and sentenced to pay 
a heavy fine. In default of payment he was con- 
fined in the Litchfield jail, greatly to the indigna- 
tion of his political friends, who marched in proces- 
sion to the place of his confinement. After his 
release he returned to his paper, which he edited 
for several years. About 1809 he married a lady 
of New Bedford, who died a few years after. 
During the war of 1815-14 he served as a captaip 
in the United States army, and was stationed on 
the Canada frontier. After the peace he resumed 
the editorial profession at Bennington, Vermont, 
where he remained a number of years, and then 
removed to Wilmington, Delaware. He was for 
a short time during the year 1835 the editor of a 
paper devoted to the support of John C. Calhonn 
for the Presidency. He next removed to Phila- 
delphia, where he died in October, 1826. 



His small volume of Poems, Moral, Sentimental, 
and Satirical, published at Boston in 1823, is a 
selection of hid fugitive piece* written at various 
period-!, mostly in a feeble vein of morality, with 
some crude attempts at humor. A sketch of 
Thanksgiving Day, in a descriptive account of 
New England, has a homely air of reality. 


Nurse of my earliest hope, my ripest joy ! 
What theme more grateful could my verse employ ? 
Thy copious breast is bounteous, if not fair — 
My heart unweaaed, still clings and nestles there. 
Though doomed to exile by stem Fate's decree, 
Still memory :md mind ea.i visit thee. 

Borne oa Imagination's buoyant wings, 
Again I view thy g.-oves, thy hills, thy springs; 
Thy coy, reluctu it, but relenting soil, 
Woo'd and sub lu^d by perseveri. g toil — 
Thy various coast; where frowns the roeky shore, 
Whe e the rule breakers beat with ceaseless roar ; 
Or where the lazy billows slowly reach 
And gmbol on the far extended beach — 
Where islands in fantastic groups are seen, 
And pigmy promontories, crowned with green ; 
Wiiere rise the hulks that float 0:1 distant seas, 
In tropic climes that scorch, or climes that freeze, 
Whose prows, directed by each hardy crew, 
The giant whale or valued col pursue — 
Where ma ly a fearless tar was early bred, 
The lig'it of victory round our flag to spread: 
To sea 1 all climes and visit every re:ilm — 
And o'er earth's surface guide the subject helm. 

Washington Irving was born April 3, 1783, in 
the city of New York,* the youngest son of a mer- 
chant, William Irving, a native of Scotland, who 
had married an English lady and been settled in 
his njiv country some twenty years. His early 
education was much influenced by the tastes of 
his brothers, who had occupied themselves with 
literature ; and he fell in himself with a stock of 
the best old English authors, the study of which 
generou ly unfolded his happy natural disposition. 
Chaucer and Spenser were his early favorites. 
He had an ordinary school education, and at the 
age of sixteen commenced the study of the law. 
In 1832 he wrote for the Morning Chronicle, a 
New York paper, edited by his brother Dr. Peter 
Irving, a series of essays on the theatres, manners 
of the town, and kindred topics, with the signa- 
ture of Jonathan Oldstyle. A pamphlet edition 
of these was published in 1824 without the sanc- 
tion of the author. In 1804, led by some symp- 
toms of ill health, apparently of a pulmonary 
affection, he visited the South of Europe, sailing 
from New York for Bordeaux in May, ami travel- 
ling on his arrival by Nice to Genoa, where he 
passed two months, thence to Messina in Sicily, 
making a tour of that island, and crossing from 
Palermo to Naples. Thence through Italy and 
Switzerland to France, where he resided several 
months in Paris, and readied England through 
Flanders and Holland, gathering a stock of mate- 
rials for his future writings. While at Rome on 
this journey he became acquainted, with Wash- 
ington Allston, and so far participated in his stu- 
dies as to meditate for a time the profession of a 

* The house in which he was horn was next to the corner of 
Fulton street in William, now, by tlte widening of the former 
street, on the corner, and one of tho Washington Stores. 

painter, for which he has naturally a tasta. In 
the reminiscences of Allston from Irving's pen, 
in previous pages of this work, will be found an 
interesting account of this episode of artistical 
life and di-tinguished friendship.* 

After an absence of two years lie returned to 
New York in March, 18)6. He took up again 
the study of the law, and was admitted at the 
close of the year attorney-at-law. He, however, 
never practised the profession. 

S dmag undi ; or, th; Whim- Whams and Opi- 
nions of Lwncelot L mgstaff, Esq., and others, 
was at that time projected, and the publication 
commenced in a series of sm ill eighteenmo num- 
bers, appearing about once a fortnight from tho 
Shakespeare Gallery of Longworth. The first is 
dated January 24, 1807. It was continued for a 
year, through twenty numbers. Paulding wrote 
a good portion of this work, William Irving tho 
poetry, and Washington Irving the remainder. 
The humors of the day are hit off in this squib in 
so agreeable a style that it is still read with inte- 
rest, what was piquant gossip then being amusing 
history now. It was the intention of Irving to 
have extended these papers by carrying out the 
invention and marrying Will Wizard to the eldest 
Miss Cockloft — with, of course, a grand wedding 
at Cockloft Hall, the original of which mansion 
was a veritable edifice owned by Gouverneur 
Kemble on the Passaic, a favorite resort of Geof- 
frey Crayon in his youthful days. Among other 
originals of these sketches we have heard it men- 
tioned that some of tho peculiarities of Dennic, 
the author, were hit off in the character of Launce- 
lot Langstaff. The well-defined picture of " My 
Uncle John'' is understood to have been from the 
pen of Paulding ; his, too, was the original sketch 
of the paper entitled "Autumnal Reflections," 
though extended and wrought up by Irving, 

Knickerbockers History of New Yorlf was pub- 
li-hed in December, 1800. It was commenced by 
Washington Irving in company with his brother 
Peter Irving, with the idea of parodying a hand- 
book, which had just appeared, entitled A Picture 
of New York. In emulation of an historical ac- 
count in that production, it was to burlesque tho 
local records, and describe in an amusing way 
the habits and statistics of the town. Dr. Ir- 
ving departing for Europe, and leaving tho work 
solely with his brother, the latter confined it to 
the historical part, which had grown in his hands 
into a long comic history. The humorous capa- 
bilities of tho subject wero turned to account in 
the happiest way, tho fun being broad enough 
not to be confounded with the realities, though a 
venerable clergyman, who was on the lookout 
for a history upon that subject from a clerical 
brother, is said to have begun the work in good 
faith, and to have been only gradually warmed to 
a consciousness of the joke. The highest honor 
ever paid to the authentic history of Knicker- 
bocker was tho quotation from it — in good Latin 

* Ant*, p. 14 

t A History of New York, from the Beginning of tho World 
to the end of the Dutch Dynasty; containing, among many 
surprising and carious matters, the Unutterable Pondei 'ings of 
Walter the Doubter; tho Disastrous Projects of William tho 
Testy; and the Chivalric Achievements of Peter the Head- 
strong; the three Dutch Governors of New Amsterdam : be- 
ing the only Authentic History of tho Times lhat ever hath 
been or ever will be published. By Dicdrich Knickerbocker. 



phrase — by Goeller, German annotator of Thu- 
cydides, in illustration of a passage of the Greek 
author: Addo locum Washingtords Irvingii Hist. 
Kovi Eboraci, lib. vii. cap. 5.* To humor the 
pleasantry preliminary advertisements were in- 
serted before the publication in the Evening Post, 
calling for information of " a small elderly gentle- 
man, dressed in an old black coat and cocked hat, 
by the name of Knickerbocker" etc., who had left 
his lodgings at the Columbian Hotel in Mulberry 
street ; then a statement that the old gentleman 
had left " a very curious kind of a written book 
in his room," followed by the announcement of 
the actual book " in two volumes duodecimo, 
price three dollars," from the publishers Inskeep 
and Bradford — to pay the bill of his landlord. 

To the last revised edition of this work in 1850, 
which contains some very pleasant additions, the 
author has prefixed an "Apology," which, how- 
ever, offers little satisfaction to the irate families 
who have considered their honor aggrieved by 
the publication of this extravagant burlesque — 
for the incorrigible author insists upon it that he 
has brought the old Dutch manners and times 
into notice, as proved by the innumerable Knick- 
erbocker hotels, steamboats, ice-carts, and other 
appropriations of the name ; and has added not 
only to the general hilarity but to the harmony of 
the city, the popular traditions which he has set 
in vogue " forming a convivial currency; Unking 
our whole community together in good humor and 
good fellowship ; the rallying points of home feel- 
ing; the seasoning of civic festivities; the staple 
of local tales and local pleasantries.''t We should 
attach little importance to the subject had it not 
been made a matter of comment in the New York 
Historical Society, in an address before which 
body it was gravely held up to reprehension. The 
truth of the matter is that the historians should 
have occupied the ground earlier, if possible, and 
not have given the first advantage to the humor- 
ist. We do not find, however, that the burlesque 
has at all damaged the subject in the hands of 
Mr. Brodhead, who has at length brought to bear 
a system of original investigation and historical 
inquiry upon the worthy Dutch settlers of New 
Amsterdam ; or deteriorated a whit the learned 
labors of O'Callaghan, who has illustrated the 
early Dutch annals with faithful diligence. The 
style of Knickerbocker is of great felicity. There 
is just enough flavor of English classical reading 
to give the riant, original material, the highest 
gusto. The descriptions of nature and manners 
are occasionally very happy in a serious way, and 
the satire is, much of it, of that universal cha- 
racter which will bear transplantation to wider 
scenes and interests. The laughter-compelling 
humor is irresistible, and we may readily believe 
the story of that arch wag himself, Judge Brack- 
enridge, exploding over a copy of the work, which 
he had smuggled with him to the bench. 

In 1810 Irving wrote a biographical sketch of 
the poet Campbell, which was prefixed to an edi- 
tion of the poet's works published in Philadelphia. 
The circumstance which led to this was Irving's 
acquaintance with Archibald Campbell, a brother 

* Classical Museum, Oct., 1S49. 

t The author's Apology, preface to edition of Knickerbocker, 


of the author, who was then residing in New 
York, and who was desirous of finding a pur- 
chaser for an American edition of " O'Connor's 
Child," which he had just received from London. 
To facilitate this object Irving wrote the prelimi- 
nary sketch from facts furnished by his brother. 
It afterwards led to a personal acquaintance be- 
tween the two authors when Irving visited Eng- 
land. In 1850, after Campbell's death, when his 
" Life and Letters," edited by Dr. Beattie, were 
being republished by the Harpers in New York, 
Irving was applied to for a few preliminary words 
of introduction. He wrote a letter, prefixed to 
the volumes, in which he speaks gracefully and 
nobly of his acquaintance with Campbell, many 
of the virtues of whose private life were first dis- 
closed to the public in Dr. Beattie's publication. 
After the perpetration of the Knickerbocker, 
Irving engaged with two of his brothers in mer- 
cantile business, as a silent partner. The second 
war with Great Britain then broke out, when he 
took part in the spirit of the 'day; edited the 
Analectic Magazine, published at Philadelphia, 
by Moses Thomas, writing an eloquent series 
of biographies, accompanying portraits of the 
American Naval Captains; and, in 1814, joined 
the military staff of Governor Tompkins as aide- 
de-camp and military secretary, with the title of 
Colonel. "When the war was ended the next 
year, he sailed for Liverpool in the month of May, 
made excursions into Wales, some of the finest 
counties of England, and to the Highlands of 
Scotland, intending to visit the continent. The 
commercial revulsions which followed the war 
overwhelmed the house with which he was con- 
nected, and he was thrown upon his resources as 
an author. Repairing to London his excursions 
and his observations on rural life and manners 
furnished materials for some of the most attract- 
ive portions of his Sketch Book. The publication 
of this was commenced in New York, in large 
octavo pamphlets, a style afterwards adopted 
by Dana in his "Idle Man," and Longfellow 
in his " Outre Mer." When the first volume 
had appeared in this form it attracted the notice 
of Jerdan, who received a copy brought over 
from America by a passenger, republished some 
of the papers in his Literary Gazette* and a 
reprint of the whole was in prospect by some 
bookseller, when the author applied to Murray to 
undertake the work. The answer was civil, but 
the publisher declined it. Irving then addressed 
Sir Walter Scott, by whom he had previously 
been cordially received at Abbotsford, on his 
visit in 1819, of which he has given so agreeable 
an account in the paper in the Crayon Mis- 
cellany,! to secure his assistance with Con- 
stable. Scott, in the most friendly manner, 
promised his aid, and offered Irving the editorial 
chair of a weekly ^periodical to be established 
at Edinburgh, with a salary of five hundred 
pounds, but he had too vivid a sense of the toils 
and responsibilities of such an office to ac- 

* Autobiography of William Jerdnn, ii. 2S8. 

t Scott had been an admirer of Irving's early writings, hav- 
ing received a copy of Knickerbocker, not long after its pub- 
lication, through Mr. HeDry Brevoort. Irving carried him a 
letter of introduction from Campbell, to whom Scott sent a 
message, thanking him for "one of the best and pleasantcst 
acquaintances I have made this many a day." — Lockhart's 
Scott, ch. xxiis. 


cept it. He put the first volume of the Sketch 
Book to press at his own expense, with John 
Miller, February, 1820; it was getting along 
tolerably, when the bookseller failed in the first 
month. Scott came to London at this time, 
reopened the matter with Murray, who issued the 
entire work, and thenceforward Irving had a 
publisher for his successive works, " conducting 
himself in all his dealings with that fair, open, 
and liberal spirit which had obtained for him the 
well merited appellation of the Prince of Book- 
sellers."* Murray bought the copyright for two 
hundred pounds, which he subsequently increased 
to four hundred, with the success of the work. 

In 1820 Irving took up his residence for a 3-ear 
in Paris, where he became acquainted with the 
poet Moore, and enjoyed his intimacy with the 
best English society in the metropolis. In the 
spring of 1821, Moore speaks in his Diary of 
Irving's being hard at work writing his Brace- 
bridge Hall, having in the course of ten days 
written about one hundred and thirty pages of 
the size of those in the Sketch Book, adding, 
"this is amazing rapidity." Bracebridge Ball, 
or the Humourists, is a series of sketches of 
English rural lite, holiday customs, and refined 
village character of Sir Roger de Ooverley por- 
traiture, centring about a fine old establishment 
in Yorkshire. The characters of Master Simon, 
Jack Tibbett-*, and General Ilarbottle do credit to 
the school of Goldsmith and Addison. The Stout 
Gentleman, the Village Choir, the delicate story 
of Annette Delarbre display the best powers of 
the author; while the episodes of the Dutch 
tales of Dolph Heyliger and the Storm Ship 
relieve the monotony of the English description. 

The winter of 1822 was passed by Irving at 
Dresden. He returned to Paris in 1823, and in the 
December of the following year published his 
Tales of a Traveller, with the stories of the 

* Author's Preface to the Revised Edition of Sketch Book, 

VOL. II. i 

Nervous Gentleman, including that fine piece of 
animal spirits and picturesque description, the 
Bold Dragoon, the series of pictures of literary 
life in Buckthorne and his Friends — in winch 
there is som.e of his happiest writing, blending 
humor, sentiment, and a kindly indulgence for the 
failures of life, — the romantic Italian Stories, and, 
as in the preceding work, a sequel of New World 
legends of Dutchmen and others, built upon the 
writer's invention in the expansion of the fertile 
theme of Captain Kidd, the well known piratical 
and money-concealing adventurer. For this work 
Moore tells us that Murray gave Irving fifteen 
hundred pounds, and " he. might have had two 
thousand."* These books were still published 
in the old form in numbers in New York, simul- 
taneously witli their English appearance. 

The following winter of 1825 was passed 
by Irving in the South of France, and early 
in the next year he went to Madrid, at the sug- 
gestion of Alexander H. Everett, then minister 
to Spain, for the purpose of translating the im- 
portant series of new documents relating to the 
voyages of Columbus, just collected by Navar- 
rete. For a translation was substituted the 
History 0/ the Life and Voyages of Christopher 
Columbus,f to which the Voyages and Discoveries 
of the Companions of Columbus were afterwards 
added. The Columbus was published in 1828, 
and the English edition brought its author three 
thousand guineas. A tour to the South of Spain 
in this and the following year provided the 
materials for A Chronicle of the Conquest of 
Grenada, and The Alhambra, or the New Sketch 
Book. The latter is dedicated, May, 1832, to 
Wilkie, the artist, who was a companion with the 
author in some of his excursions. Irving spent 
three months in the old Moorish palace. He some 
time after in America, published his Legends of the 
Conquest of Spain (in 1835), which with his 
Mahomet and his Successors (1819-50) complete 
a series of Spanish and Moorish subjects, marked 
by the same genial and poetic treatment; the 
fancy of the writer evidently luxuriating in the 
personal freedom of movement of iiis heroes, their 
humor of individual character, and the warm 
oriental coloring of the theme. 

In July, 1829, Irving left Spain for England, 
having been appointed Secretary of Legation to 
the American Embassy at London, when Mr. 
M'Lane was Minister, ne retired on the arrival 
of Van Buren. The University of Oxford con- 
ferred on him in 1831 the degree of LL.D. He 
arrived in America on his return, May 21, 1832, 
after an absence of seventeen years, and his 
friends at New York commemorated his arrival 
by a public dinner, at which Chancellor Kent 
presided. A few months later, in the summer, 
Irving accompanied Mr. Ellsworth, one of the 
commissioners for removing the Indian tribes 
west of the Mississippi, in his journey, which ha 
has described in his Tour on the Prairies, pub- 
lished in the Crayon Miscellany in 1835. His 
Abhotsford and. Nexcsteal Abbey formed another 
volume of the series. In 1836 he published his 

* "Diary. 17 Jane, 1S24. 

t The Colnmbus gained him a high honor in the receipt of 
one of the fifty-guinea ixold medals, provided by George IT. 
for eminence inbistorical writing, its companion being assign- 
ed to Hallam. 



Astoria, attracted to the subject by an early fond- 
ness for the character of the trappers and voy- 
ageurs whom he had seen in his youth in Canada. 
He was assisted in the preparation of this work 
by his nephew, Mr. Pierre M. Irving.* 

Another undertaking of a similar character 
was his Adventures of Captain Bonneville, 
U.S.A., in the Rocky Mountains and the Far 
West, prepared from ihe MSS. of that traveller, 
but made an original work by the observation 
and style of the writer. From 1839, for two 
years, Irving contributed a series of papers 
monthly to the Knickerbocker Magazine. Among 
these tales and sketches are two narratives, The 
Early Experiences of Ralph Eingwood. and 
Mount joy, or some Fassages out of the Life of a 
Castle Builder. A number of these papers, with 
some others from the English Annuals and other 
sources, have been collected in 1S55 in a volume, 
with the title of Wolfert's Roost. 

In February, 1842, he was appointed Minister 
to Spain, an office which he occupied for the next 
four years. He then returned home, and has since 


continued to reside at his cottage residence, 
" Sunnyside," near Tarry town, on the banks of 
the Hudson, the very spot which he had described 
years before in the " Legend of Sleepy Hollow," 
as the castle of the Heer van Tassel, illuminated 
with the throng of country beauties, and that pro- 
digality of " a genuine Dutch country tea-table," 
in the presence of which the mouth of the 
schoolmaster Ichabod watered, and his skin di- 
lated as it embraced the ample cheer. Of this 
neighborhood, Irving also wrote in that tale of 
his youth : — " If ever I should wish for a re- 
treat, whither I might steal from the world 
and its distractions, and dream quietly away 
the remainder of a troubled life, I know 
of none more promising than this little val- 
ley." At this retreat since his last return 
from Europe he has lived, in the midst of a family 
circle composed of his brother and his nieces. 

* An interesting communication from Irving on this sub- 
ject, contradicting a story of Mr. Astor having paid him five 
thousand dollars to "take up the MSS.' 1 will be found in the 
Literary World for November 22, 1851. The only compensa- 
tion Irving received was his share of the profits from his 

hospitably entertaining his friends, occasionally 
visiting different portions of the country, and em- 
ploying his pen in the composition of his Life of 
Washington, the first volume of which, as we 
write, is in progress through the press. The pre- 
paration of this, the publication of Oliver Gold- 
smith, a Biography, an enlargement of a life 
which he had prefixed to an edition in Paris of 
that author's works, adapting the researches of 
Prior and Forster, and a revised edition of his 
own writings published by Putnam, of which 
several of the volumes have been published in a 
more costly form, enriched by the vigorous and 
refined designs of Darley, have been his latest 
literary productions. 

In estimating the genius of Irving, we can 
hardly attach too high a value to the refined 
qualities and genial humor which have made his 
wi-itings favorites wherever the English language 
is read. The charm is in the proportion, the 
keeping, the happy vein which inspires happiness 
in return. It is the felicity of but few authors, 
out of the vast stock of English literature, to 
delight equally young and old. The tales of Ir- 
ving are the favorite authors of childhood, and 
their good humor and amenity can please where 
most literature is weariness, in the sick room of 
the convalescent. Every influence which breathes 
from these writings is good and generous. Their 
sentiment is always just and manly, without cant 
or affectation; their humor is always within the 
bounds of propriety. They have a fresh inspira- 
tion of American nature, which is not the less 
nature for the art with which it is adorned. 
The color of personality attaches us throughout 
to the author, whose humor of character is 
always to be felt. This happy art of presenting 
rude and confused objects in an orderly pleasur- 
able aspect, everywhere to be met with in the 
pages of Irving, is one of the most beneficent in 
literature. The philosopher Hume said a turn 
for humor was worth to him ten thousand a 
year, and it is this gift which the writings of 
Irving impart. To this quality is allied an active 
fancy and poetic imagination, many of the 
choicest passages of Irving being interpenetrated 
by this vivifying power. On one or two occa- 
sions only, we believe, in some stanzas to the 
Passaic River, some delicate lines, descriptive of 
a painting by Gilbert Stuart Newton,* and a 
theatrical address, once pronounced by Cooper at 
the Park Theatre, has he ever put pen to verse ; 
but he is an essential poet in prose, in many ex- 
quisite passages of vivid description from West- 
minster Abbey and English rural scenery to the 
waste beauties of the great region beyond the 
Mississippi. Parallel with the ruder but more 

* An old philosopher is reading, in this picture, from a folio, 
to a young beauty who is asleep in a chair on the other side 
of the table. It is a fine summer's day. and the warm atmo- 
sphere is let in through the open casement. These are the 
lines which Irving wrote at his friend Newton's request, as a 
description of the picture: — 

THE DULL LECTURE. age. frostie age, 

Vain a 1 thy learning; 
Drowsie page, drowsie page, 

Evermore turning. 

Young head no lore will heed. 
Young heart's a reckless rover, 

Young beauty, while you read, 
Sleeping dreams of absent lover. 



robust and athletic writings of Cooper, _ the 
volumes of Irving improved American society, 
and rendered the national name beloved and 
respected abroad. Both, to the honor of the 
country, have never lacked admirers from the 
start; "both have been followed by diligent 
schools of imitators, and their books will con- 
tinue to be read together, with equal honor, as 
the complement of each other. 

We may here properly introduce some notices 
of the elder brothers of Washington Irving, who, 
together with himself, established the family re- 
putation in literature. They were four : — Wil- 
liam, Peter, Ebenezer, and John Treat. All were 
engaged in literary or professional life except 
Ebenezer, who pursued a mercantile career. 

William Irving was born in New York, 
August 15, 1766. He commenced life as an 
Indian trader, residing at Johnstown and Caugh- 
awaga on the Mohawk, from 1787 to 1791. He 
married a sister of the author, James K. Paul- 
ding, November 7, 1703. At the date of Salma- 
gundi he was a merchant at New York, with the 
character of a man of wit and refinement, who 
had added to a natural genial temperament the 
extensive resources of observation, and a fresh 
experience of the world, gathered in his border 
life. The part which he took in Salmagundi was 
chiefly the contribution of the poetical pieces, 
which are mainly from his pen — the letters and 
proclamations, t'.ie humorous and sentimental 
verse, "from the mill of Pindar Cockloft." These 
poems are in a happy vein, and if separately 
published with the author's name, would have 
long since given him a distinct place in the col- 
lections of the American literati. In furtherance 
of the prevailing humor of the book, they cele- 
brate the simpler manners of former days, and 
the eccentricities and scandals of the passing 
time. The satire is pungent and good-natured, 
and the numbers felicitous. A few stanzas will 
show how pleasantly Pindar Cockloft, Esq., 
blended mirth with sentiment. 


How oft I breathe the inward sigh, 
And feel the dew-drop in my eye, 
When I behold some beauteous frame, 
Divine in everything but name, 
Just venturing, in the tender age, 
On Fashion's late new-fangled stage! 
Where soon the guileless heart shall cease 
To bent in artlessness and peace; 
Where all the flowers of guy delight 
With which youth decks its prospects bright, 
Shall wither 'mid the cares— the atrife — 
The eold realities of life ! 

Thus lately, in my careless mood, 
As I the world of fashion viewed, 
While celebrating e/rcat mid small, 
That grand solemnity — a ball, 
My roving vision chanced to light 
On two sweet forms, divinely bright; 
Two sister nymphs, alike in face, 
In mien, in loveliness and grace ; 
Twin rose-buds, bursting into bloom, 
In all their brilliance and perfume ; 
Like those fair forms that often beam, 
Upon the eastern poet's dream: 

For Eden had each lovely maid 
In native innocence arrayed, — ■ 
And heaven itself had almost shed 
Its sacred halo round each head 1 

They seemed, just entering hand in hand, 
To cautious tread this fairy land; 
To take a timid hasty view, 
Enchanted with a scene so new. 
The modest blush, untaught by art, 
Bespoke their purity of heart; 
And every timorous act unfurled 
Two souls unspotted by the world. 

Oh, how these strangers joyed my sight, 
And thrilled my bosom with delight! 
They brought the visions of my youth 
Back to my soul in all their truth, 
Recalled fair spirits into day, 
That time's rough hand had swept awayl 
Thus the bright natives from above, 
Who come on messages of love, 
Will bless, at rare and distant whiles, 
Our sinful dwelling by their smiles ! 

Oh ! my romance of youth is past, 
Bear airy dreams too bright to last ! 
Yet when such forms as these appear, 
I feel your soft remembrance here ; 
For, ah ! the simple poet's heart, 
On which fond love once played its part, 
Still feels the soft pulsations beat, 
As loth to quit their former seat. 
Just like the harp's melodious wire, 
Swept by a bard with heavenly fire, 
Though ceased the loudly swelling strain, 
Yet sweet vibrations long remain. 

Full soon I found the lovely pair 
Had sprung beneath a mother's care, 
Hard by a neighbouring streamlet's side, 
At once its ornament and pride. 
The beauteous parent's tender heart 
Had well fulfilled its pious part; 
And, like the holy man of old, 
As we're by sacred writings told, 
Who, when he from his pupil sped, 
Poured two-fold blessing* on his head, — 
So this fond mother had imprest 
Her early virtues in each breast, 
And as she found her stock enlarge, 
Had stampt new graces on her charge. 

The fair resigned the calm retreat, 
Where first their souls in concert beat, 
And flew on expectation's wing, 
To sip the joys of life's gay spring ; 
To sport in fashion's splendid maze, 
Where friendship fades, and love decays. 
So two sweet wild flowers, near the side 
Of some fair river's silver tide, 
Pure as the gentle stream that laves 
The green banks with its lucid waves, 
Bloom beauteous in their native ground, 
Diffusing heavenly fragrance round: 
But should a venturous hand transfer 
These blossoms to the gay parterre 
Where, spite of artificial aid, 
The fairest plants of nature fade; 
Though they may shine supreme awhile, 
Mid pale ones of the stranger soil, 
The tender beauties soon decay, 
And their sweet fragrance dies away. 

Blest spirits ! who enthroned in air, 
Watch o'er the virtues of the fair, 
And with angelic ken survey, 
Their windings through life's chequered way ; 



"Who hover round them as they glide 

Down fashion's smooth deceitful tide, 

And guard them o'er that stormy deep 

Where Dissipation's tempests sweep: 

Oh, make this inexperienced pair, 

The objects of your tenderest care. 

Preserve them from the languid eye, 

The faded cheek — the long drawn sigh ; 

And let it be your constant aim 

To keep the fair ones still the same : 

Two sister hearts, unsullied, bright 

As the first beam of lucid light, 

That sparkled from the youthful sun, 

When first his jocund race begun. 

So when these hearts shall burst their shrine, 

To wing their flight to realms divine, 

They may to radiant mansions rise 

Pure as when first they left the skies. 

In his poem entitled Tea, which is " earnestly 
recommended to the attention of all maidens of 
a certain age," there is this introduction of the 
time-out-of-mind scandal associated with that 

In harmless chit-chat an acquaintance they roast, 
And serve up a friend, as they serve up a toast, 
Some gentle faux pas, or some female mistake, 
Is like sweetmeats delicious, or relished as cake; 
A bit of broad scandal is like a dry crust, 
It would stick in the throat, so they butter it first 
With a little affected good-nature, and cry 
" No body regrets the thing deeper than I." 
Our young ladies nibble a good name in play, 
As for pastime they nibble a biscuit away: 
While with shrugs and surmises, the toothless old 

As she mumbles a crust she will mumble a name ; 
And as the fell sisters astonished the Scot, 
In predicting of Banquo's descendants the lot, 
Making shadows of kings, amid flashes of light, 
To appear in array and to frown in his sight ; 
So they conjure up spectres all hideous in hue, 
Which, as shades of their neighbors, are passed in 


In the more concentrated social humors of that 
day, there was opportunity for much satirical 
pleasantry, which is now lost among the nu- 
merous interests of metropolitan life. The fops 
and belles were then notabilities and subjects to 
be cared for by men of wit and society. One of 
the clever pleasantries of William Irving of that 
now distant time, which has never before ap- 
peared in print, was recently called up for us by 
Washington Irving, who recited the lines from 
memory, and kindly furnished us with a copy. 
It is in a style formerly in vogue in the days of 
Pindar and Colman — a trifle in allusion to an 
absurdity in the whisker line of the fops in the 
early years of the century. 

Sir! said a barber to a thing going by his shop, 
Sir, said he, will you stop 

And be shaved? for I see you are lathered already, 
I've a sweet going razor, and a hand that is steady. 
Sir! damme,said the creature standing stiff on two 

Damme, Sir,' — do you intend to bore one in the 

Don't you see that ct la mode de Cockney, I am 

shaved and drest? 
Lord, Sir, said the barber, I protest, 
I took that load of hair, and meal, and lard, 
That lies about your mouth to be a lathered beard. 

This fashion of lathered whiskers and a rat's tail 

Is the most ojusest thing that you can find. 
And what makes it more ojus to me, is that, 
It's a sure sign of a Tory or a harry stuck cat. 
For mark it when you will, I assert it before ye, 
The larger the whisker the greater the tory. 

To the prose of Salmagundi William Irving 
furnished occasional hints and sketches, which 
were worked up by his brother. Among these 
were the letters of Mustapha in numbers five and 
fourteen, the last of which is the amusing sketch 
of the political logocracy. Mr. Irving was in 
Congress from 1813 to 1819. He died in New 
York, November 9, 1821. 

Petee Ieving, the second brother, was born 
October 30, 1771. He studied medicine, with- 
out, however, devoting himself to the profession, 
though it gave him the title of Doctor through 
life. He was proprietor and editor of the Morn- 
ing Chronicle newspaper, the first number of 
which he published in New York, October 1, 
1802. This paper was in the democratic interest, 
and for the time was a warm advocate of Burr. 
It had among its contributors, besides the editor's 
brothers, Washington and John T. Irving, Paul- 
ding, William A. Duer, and Paidolph Bunner. 
As a tender to the daily, a more convenient 
method of parrying the opposition, and serving 
a temporary purpose on the eve of an election, 
the Corrector, a weekly newspaper, the work of 
several hands, was issued anonymously in March 
and April, 1804. Dr. Irving would probably 
have returned the compliments of the articles 
which his brother Washington had published in 
his newspaper, by contributing to Salmagundi, 
but he was abroad travelling in Europe during 
the time that work was issued. He left in De- 
cember, 1806, and returned in January, 1808. 
He then projected with his brother the work 
which afterwards grew in the hands of the latter 
into Knickerbocker's New York ; but before it 
was written sailed for Europe at the beginning 
of 1809, and remained there until the spring of 
1836, when he embarked for home. In this 
period a novel appeared from his pen in New , 
York, from the press of "Van Winkle in 1820. 
It was, as its title intimates, an adaptation from 
the French, though with extensive alterations, 
Giovanni Sbogarro: A Venetian Tale [taken 

from the French], by Perchal G . It is a 

stirring tale of piratical adventure, in a now 
somewhat exploded school of fiction, and is 
written in a happy style. 

Dr. Irving did not long survive his return to 
America. He died at his residence in New York, 
June 27, 1838.- 

Ebexezee Ieving was horn January 27, 1776. 
He has long since retired from mercantile life, 
and his residence with his brother is one of the 
pleasing associations of the family home at Sun- 

John T. Irving was born May 26, 1778. He 
studied the profession of the law, in which he ac- 
quired a reputation that secured him, on the ere- ^ 
ation of the Court of Common Pleas for the city | 
and county of New York in 1821, the appoint- 
ment of First Judge. He presided in this court 
for seventeen 3'ears, till his death. As a judge, 
he is worthily pronounced to have been "in many 



respects a model for imitation. To the strictest 
integrity and a strong love of justice, he united 
the most exact and methodical habits of busine-s ; 
attentive, careful, and painstaking, few judges in 
this state ever have been more accurate, or per- 
haps more generally correct in their decisions."* 
In his early days we have seen him a c mtributor 
to his brother's newspaper. He was fond of oom- 
po ition, had the family elegance of style, and 
wrote brilliant political verses in the party con- 
flict i of his day. He died in New York, March 
15, 1838. 

Of the younger members of the family, John 
Treat Irving, son of Judge Irving, is the author 
of several works of distinguished literary merit. 
In 1835 he published Indian Sketches, a narra- 
tive of an expedition to the Pawnee Tribe-!, a 
book of lively, spirited description. He is also 
the author of two novels, remarkable for their 
striking pathetic and humorous qualities: The 
Attorney, and Harry Hurson, or the Benevolent 
Bachelor. Both of these were first published in 
the Knickerbocker Magazine, with the signature 
of John Quod, the well known title to many a 
pjleasant article in that journal. The locality is 
New York, and the interest of each turns upon 
passages of the author's profession, the law. 
With the graver themes of rascality are mingled 
the humors of low life, both sketched with a Ann 

Theodore, the son of Ebenezer Irving, joined 
his uncle, Washington Irving, in Europe in 1S2S, 
and resided with him in Spain and England. 
From 183(5 to 1849 he was Professor of History 
and Belles Lettres at Geneva College, and sub- 
sequently held a similar position in the Free 
Academy in New York. In 1835 he published an 
historical work, The Conquest of Florida, by 
Hernando de Soto, to the composition of winch he 
was led by his studies in Spain. It is written with 
ease and elegance, and lias been well received, 
having been recently reprinted in 1851. Mr. 
Irving is also the author of a devotional volume, 
The Fountain of Living Waters. In 1854 he re- 
ceived orders in the Protestant Episcopal Church. 


It was a rainy Sunday in the gloomy month of 
November. I had been detained, in the course of a 
journey, by a slight indisposition, from which I was 
recovering; but was still feverish, and obliged to 
keep within doors all day, in an inn of the small 
town of Derby. A wet Sunday in a country inn ! — ■ 
whoever has had the luck to experience one can 
alone judge of my situation. The rain puttered 
against the casements ; the bells tolled for church 
with a melancholy sound. I went to the windows 
in quest of something to amuse the eye; but it 
seemed as if I had been placed completely out of 
the reach of all amusement. The windows of my 
bedroom looked out among tiled roofs and stacks of 
chimneys, while those of my sitting-room comman- 
ded a full view of the stable-yard. I know of 
nothing more calculated to make a man sick of this 
world than a stable-yard on a rainy day. The 
place was littered with wet straw that had been 
kicked about by travellers and stable-boys. In one 
corner was a stagnant pool of water, surrounding an 
island of muck ; there were several half-drowned 

* Daly's History of Judicial Tribunals of New York, p. 65. 

fowls crowded together tinder a cart, among which 
was a miserable, crest-fallen cock, drenched out of 
all life and spirit; his drooping tail matted, as it 
were, into a single feather, along which the water 
trickled from his back ; near the cart was a half- 
dozing cow, chewing the cud, and standing patiently 
to be rained on, with wreaths of vapor rising from 
her reeking hide ; a wall-eyed horse, tired of the 
loneliness of the stable, was poking his spectral head 
out of a window, with the rain dripping on it from . 
the eaves; an unhappy cur, chained to a doghouse 
hard by, uttered something every now and then, 
between a bark and a yelp ; a drab of a kitchen 
wench tramped backwards and forwards through 
the yard in pattens, looking as sulky as the weather 
itself; every thing, in short, was comfortless and 
forlorn, except a crew of hardened ducks, assembled 
like boon companions round a puddle, and making a 
riotous noise over their liquor. *> 

I was lonely and listless, and wanted amusement. 
My room soon became insupportable. I abandoned 
it, and sought what is technically culled the travel- 
lers'-room. This is a public room set apart at most 
inns for the accommodation of a class of wayfarers, 
called travellers, qr riders; a kind of commercial 
knights-errant, who are incessantly scouring the 
kingdom in gigs, on horseback, or by coach. They 
are the only successors that I know of at the present 
day, to the knights-errant of yore. They lead the 
same kind of roving adventurous life, only changing 
the lanee for a driving whip, the buckler for a pat- 
tern-card, and the coat of mail for an upper Benja- 
min. Instead of vindicating the charms of peerless 
beauty, they rove about, spreading the fame and 
standing of some substantial tradesman or manu- 
facturer, and are ready at any time to bargain 
in his name; it being the fashion no\v-a-d;iys to 
trade, instead of fight, with one another. As the 
room of the hostel, in the good old fighting times, 
would be hung round at night with the armor of 
way-worn warriors, such as coats of mail, falchions, 
and yawning helmets; so the travellers'-room is 
garnished with the harnessing of their successors, 
with box-coats, whips of all kinds, spurs, gaiters, and 
oil-cloth covered hats. 

I was in hopes of finding some of these worthies 
to talk with, but was disappointed. There were, 
indeed, two or three in the room ; but I could make 
nothing of them. One was just finishing his break- 
fast, quarrelling with his bread and butter, and 
huffing the waiter; another buttoned on a pair of 
gaiters, with many execrations at Boots for not hav- 
ing cleaned his shoes well; a third sat drumming 
on the table with his fingers and looking at the rain 
as it streamed down the window-glass; they all ap- 
peared infected by the weather, and disappeared, 
one after the other, without exchanging a word. 

I sauntered to the window, and stood gazing at 
the people, picking their way to church, with petti- 
coats hoisted midleg high, and dripping umbrellas. 
The bell ceased to toll, and the streets became silent. 
I then amused myself with watching the daughters 
of a tradesman opposite ; who, being confined to the 
house for fear of wetting their Sunday finery, played 
off their charms at the front windows, to fascinate 
the chance tenants of the inn. They at length were 
summoned away by a vigilant vinegar-faced mother, 
and I had nothing further from without to amuse me. 

Whatwaslto do to pass away the long-lived day? 
I waB sadly nervous and lonely; and everything 
about an inn seems calculated to make a dull day 
ten times duller. Old newspapers, smelling of beer 
and tobacco smoke, and which I had already read 
half a dozen times. Good for nothing books, that 
were worse than rainy weather. I bored myself to 



death with nn old volume of the Lady's Magazine. 
I read all the commonplaced names of ambitious 
travellers scrawled oa the panes of glass; the eter- 
nal families of the Smiths, and the Browns, and the 
Jacksons, and the Johnsons, and all the other sons; 
and I deciphered several scraps of fatiguing in-win- 
dow poetry which I have met with in all parts of 
the world. 

The day continued lowering and gloomy ; the 
slovenly, ragged, spongy clouds drifted heavily 
along ; there was no variety even in the rain : it 
was one dull, continued, monotonous patter — patter 
— patter, excepting that now and then I was enli- 
vened by the idea of a brisk shower, from the rattling 
of the drops upon a passing umbrella. 

It was quite refreshing (if I may be allowed a 
hackneyed phrase of the day) when, in the course 
of the mornii g, a horn blew r , and a stage-coach 
whirled through the street, with outside passengers 
stuck all over it, coweri. g under cotton umbrellas, 
and seethed together, and reeking with the steams 
of wet box-coats and upper Benjamins. 

The sound brought out from their lurking-places 
a crew of vagabond boys, and vagabond dogs, and 
the carroty-headed hostler; and that nondescript 
animal 3-cleped Boots, and all the other vagabond 
race that infest, the purlieus of an inn ; but the bus- 
tle was transient; the coach again whirled on its 
way ; and boy and dog, and hostler and Boots, all 
slunk back again to their holes; the street again 
became silent, and the rain continued to rain on. 
In fact, there was no hope of its clearing up ; the 
barometer pointed to rainy weather: mine hostess's 
tortoise-shell cat sat by the fire washing her face, 
and rubbing her paws over her ears ; and, on refer- 
ring to the Almanac, I found a direful prediction 
stretching fiom the top of the page to the bottom 
through the whole month, " expect — much — rain — 
about— this — time !'' 

I was dreadfully hipped. The hours seemed as 
if they would never creep by. The very ticking of 
the clock became irksome. At length the stillness 
of the house was interrupted by the ringing of a 
bell. Shortly after I heard the voice of a waiter at 
the bar: "The stout gentleman in No. 13, wants 
his breakfast. Tea and bread and butter, with 
ham and eggs ; the eggs not to be too much 

In such a situation as mine every incident is of 
importance. Here was a subject of speculation pre- 
sented to my mind, and ample exercise for my 
imagination. I am prone to paint pictures to my- 
self, and on this occasion I had some materials to 
work upon. Had the guest up stairs been mentioned 
as Mr. Smith or Mr. Brown, or Mr. Jackson, or Mr. 
Johnson, or merely as " the gentleman in No. 13," 
it would have been a perfect blank to me. I should 
have thought nothii g of it; but " The stout gentle- 
man!" — the very name had something in it of the 
picturesque. It at once gave the size ; it embodied 
the personage to my mind's eye, and my fancy did 
the rest. 

He was stout, or, as some term it, lusty; in all 
probability, therefore, he was advanced in life, some 
people expanding as they grow old. By his break- 
fasting rather late, and in his own room, he must be 
a man accustomed to live at his ease, and above the 
necessity of earl}' risiig; no doubt a round, rosy, 
lusty old gentleman. 

There was another violent ringing. The stout 
gentleman was impatient for his breakfast. He wa3 
evidently a man of importance; " well to do in the 
world ;" accustomed to be promptly waited upon ; 
of a keen appetite, and a little cross when hungry ; 
" perhaps," thought I, " he may be some London Al- 

derman ; or who knows but he may be a Member of 

The breakfast was sent up, and there was a short 
interval of silence ; he was, doubtless, making the 
tea. Presently there was a violent ringing; and 
before it could be answered, another ringii g still 
more violent. " Bless me ! what a choleric old gen- 
tleman !" The waiter came down in a huff. The 
butter was rancid, the eggs were over-done, the ham 
was too salt: — the stout gentleman was evidently 
nice in his eating ; one of those who eat and growl, 
and keep the waiter on the trot, and live in a state 
militant with the household. 

The hostess got into a fume. I should observe, 
that she was a brisk, coquettish woman : a little of 
a shrew, and something of a slammcrkin, but very 
pretty withal ; with a nincompoop for a husband, as 
shrews are apt to have. She rated the servants 
roundly for their negligence in sending up so bad a 
breakfast, but said not a word against the stout gen- 
tleman ; by which I clearly perceived that he must 
be a man of consequence, entitled to make a noise 
and to give trouble at a country inn. Other eggs, 
and ham, anil bread and butter were sent up. 
They appeared to be more graciously received; at 
least there was no further complaint. 

I had not made many turns about the travellers'- 
room, when there was another riigirg. Shortly 
afterwards there was a stir and an inquest about the 
house. The stout gentleman wanted the Times or 
the Chronicle newspaper. I set him down, therefore, 
for a whig ; or rather, from his beii g so absolute and 
lordly where he had a chance, I suspected him of 
being a radical. Hunt, I had heard, was a laige 
man; "who knows," thought I, "but it is Bunt 

My curiosity began to be aw.ikened. I inquired 
of the waiter who was this stout gentleman that 
was making all this stir ; but I could get no infor- 
mation : nobody seemed to know his name. Ihe 
landlords of bustling inns seldom tiouble their heads 
about the names or occupations of their transient 
guests. The color of a coat, the shape or size of the 
person, is enough to srggest a travelling name. It 
is either the tall gentleman, or the short gentleman, 
or the gentleman in black, or the gentleman in snuff- 
color; or, as in the present instance, the stout gen- 
tleman. A designation of the kind once hit on 
answers every purpose, and saves all further inquiry. 

Rain — rain — lain! pitiless, ceaseless lain! No 
such thing as putting a foot out of doors, and no 
occupation nor amusement within. By and by I 
heard some one walking over head. It was in the 
stout gentleman's room. He evidently was a large 
man by the heaviness of his tread ; and an old man 
from his wearing such creakii g soles. " He is doubt- 
less," thought 1, "some rich old square-toes of regu- 
lar habits, and is now taking exercise after break- 

I now read all the advertisements of coaches and 
hotels that were stuck about the mantel-piece. The 
Lady's Magazine had become an abomination to me; 
it was as tedious as the day itself. I wandered out, 
not knowing what to do, and ascended again to my 
room. I had not been there long, when there was 
a squall from a neighborii g bedroom. A door 
opened and slammed violently; a chambei maid, that 
I had remarked for havii g a ruddy, good-humored 
face, went down stairs in a violent flurry. The stout 
gentleman had been rude to her! 

This sent a whole host of my deductions to the I 
deuce in a moment. Tins unknown personage could 
not be an old gentleman ; for old gei tlemen are not 
apt to be so obstreperous to chambermaids. He 
could not be a young gentleman ; for young gentle- 


men are not apt to inspire sucli indignation. He 
must be a middle-aged man, and confounded ugly 
into the bargain, or the girl would not have t:iken 
the matter in such terrible dudgeon. I confess I was 
sorely puzzled. 

In a few minutes I heard the voice of my landlady. 
I caught a glance of her as she came tramping up 
stairs; her face glowing, her cap flaring, her tongue 
wagging the whole way. "She'd have no such do- 
ings in her house, she'd warrant If gentlemen did 
spend money freely, it was no rule. She'd have no 
servant mail of hers treated in that way, when 
they were about their work, that's what she 

As I hate squabbles, particularly with women, 
and above all with pretty women, I slunk back into 
my room, and partly closed the door, but my curi- 
osity was too much excite 1 not to listen. The land- 
lady marched intrepidly to the enemy's citadel, and 
entered it with a storm: the door closed after her. 
I heard her voice in high windy clamor for a mo- 
meat or two. Then it gridually subside 1, like a 
gust of wind in a garret; then there was a laugh; 
then I heard nothing more. 

After a little while my landlady came out with 
an odd smile on her face, adjusting her cap, which 
was a little on one Bide. As she went down stairs I 
heard the landlord ask her what wis the matter ; 
she sai 1, " Nothing at all, only the girl's a fool." — I 
was more than ever perplex I'd what to make of this 
unaccountable personage, who could put a gool- 
nature 1 ehamberm iil in a passion, and send away a 
termaga. it landlady in smiles. He could not be so 
old, nor cross, nor ugly either. 

J had to g> to work at his picture again, and to 
paint him entirely di.ferent. I now set him down 
for o le of those stmt ge itlemen that are frequently 
met with swaggering abou; the doors of country 
inns. Moist, merry fellows, in Belcher ha idker- 
chiefs, wh >se b ilk is a little assisted by malt-liquors. 
Men who have seen the world, and been sworn at 
Hig'ig ate ; who are use 1 to tavern life ; up to all 
the tricks of tap iters, and knowing in the ways of 
sinful publicans. Free-livers on a small scale ; who 
are prodigal within the compass of a guinea ; who 
call all the waiters by nane, to.izle the maids, gos- 
sip witli the la idlaly at the b ir, and prose over a 
pint of port, or a glass of negus, after dinner. 

The morning wore away in forming these and 
similar surmises. As fast as I wove one system of 
belief, some movement of the unknown would com- 
pletely overturn it, and throw all my thoughts again 
into confusion. Such are the solitary operations of 
a feverish mind. I was, as I have said, extremely 
nervous; and the continual meditation on the con- 
cerns of this invisible personage began to have its 
effect : — I was getting a fit of the fidgets. 

Dinner-time came. I hope 1 the stout gentleman 
might dine in the travellers'-room, and that I might 
at length get a view of his person : but no — he had 
dinner served in his own room. What could be the 
meaning of this solitude and mystery? He could 
not be a radical ; there was something too aristocra- 
tical in thus keeping himself apart from the rest of 
the world, and condemning himself to his own dull 
company throughout a rainy day. And then, too, 
he lived too well for a discoutente.l politician. He 
seemed to expatiate on a variety of dishes, and to 
sit over his wine like a jolly friend of goi»d living. 
Indeed, my doubts on this head were soon at an end ; 
for he could not have finished his first bottle before 
I could faintly hear him humming a tune; and on 
listening, I found it to be " God save the King." 
'Twas plain, then, he was no radical, but a faithful 
subject ; one who grew loyal over bis bottle, and 

was ready to stand by king and constitution, wdien 
he could stand by nothing else. But who could he 
be! ily conjectures began to run wild. Was he 
not some personage of distinction travelling incog.? 
" God knows !" said I, at my wit's end ; " it may be 
one of the royal family for aught I know, for they 

j are all stout gentlemen !" 

The weather continued rainy. The mysterious 
unknown kept his room, and, as far as I could judge, 
his chair, for I did not hear him move. In the 
meantime, as the day advanced, the travellers'-room 

j began to be frequented. Some, who had just ar- 
rived, came in buttoned up in box-coats; others 

I came home wdio had been dispersed about the town. 

\ Some took their dinners, and some their tea. Had I 
been in a different mood, I should have found enter- 

: tainment in studying this peculiar class of men. 
There were two especially, who were regular wags 

| of the road, and up to all the standing jokes of 
travellers. They had a thousand sly things to say 
to the waiting-maid, whom they called Louisa, and 
Ethelinda, and a dozen other tine names, changing 
the name every time, and chuckling amazingly at 
their own waggery. Ily mind, however, had be- 
come completely engrossed by the stout gentleman. 
He had kept my fancy in chase during a long 
day, and it was not now to be diverted from the 

The evening gradually wore away. The travel- 
lers read the papers two or three times over. Some 
drew round the fire and told long stories about their 
horses, about their adventures, their overturns, and 
breakings down. They discussed the credit of dif- 
ferent merchants and different inns; and the two 
wags told several choice anecdotes of pretty cham- 
bermaids, and kind landladies. All this passed as 
they were quietly taking what they called their 
night-caps, that is to say, strong glasses of brandy 
and water and sugar, or some other mixture of the 
kind; after which they one after another rang for 
"Boots" a id the chambermaid, and walked off to 
bed in old shoes cut down into marvellously uncom- 
fortable slippers. 

There was now only one man left ; a short-legged, 
loug-bodie 1, plethoric fellow, with a very large, 
sandy head. He sat by himself, with a glass of port 
wine negus, and a spoon ; sipping and stirring, and 
meditating and sipping, until nothing was left but 
the spoon. He gradually fell asleep bolt upright in 
his chair, with the empty glass standing before him; 
and the candle seemed to fall asleep too, for the 
wick grew long, and black, and cabbaged at the end, 
and dimmed the little light that remained in the 
chnmber. The gloom that now prevailed was con- 
tagious. Around hung the shapeless, and almost 
spectral, box-coats of departed travellers, long since 
buried in deep sleep. I only heard the ticking of 
the clock, with the deep-drawn breathings of the 
sleeping topers, and the drippings of the rain, drop 
— drop — drop, from the eaves of the house. The 
church bells chimed midnight. All at once the stout 
gentleman began to walk over heal, pacing slowly 
backwards and forwards. There was something ex- 
tremely awful in all this, especially to one in my 
state of nerves. These ghastly great-coats, these 
guttural breathings, and the creaking footsteps of 
this mysterious being. His steps grew fainter and 
fainter, and at length died away. I could bear it 
no longer. I was wound up to the desperation of 
a hero of romance. " Be he who or what he may," 
said I to myself, "I'll have a sight of him!" I 
seized a chamber candle, and hurried up to No. 13. 
The door stood ajar. I hesitated — I entered: the 
room was deserted. There stood a large, broad-bot- 
tomed elbow-chair at a table, on which was an 



empty tumbler, and a " Times" newspaper, and the 
room smelt powerfully of Stilton cheese. 

The mysterious strarger had evidently but just 
retired. I turned off, sorely disappointed, to my 
room, which had been changed to the front of the 
house. As I went along the corridor, I saw a large 
pair of boots, with dirty, waxed tops, standing at 
the door of a bed-chamber. They doubtless be- 
longed to the unknown ; but it would not do to dis- 
turb so redoubtable a personage in his den ; he 
might discharge a pistol, or something worse, at my 
head. I went to bed, therefore, and lay awake half 
the night in a terribly nervous state ; and even when 
I fell asleep, I was still haunted in my dreams by 
the idea of the stout gentleman and his wax-topped 

I slept rather late the next morning, and was 
awakened by some stir and bustle in the house, 
which I could not at first comprehend; until getting 
more awake, I found there was a mail-coach starting 
from the door. Suddenly there was a cry from 
below, " The gentleman has forgot his umbrella ! 
look for the gentleman's umbrella in No. 13!" I 
heard an immediate scampering of a chambermaid 
along the passage, and a shrill reply as she ran, 
"Here it is! here is the gentleman's umbrella!" 

Tiie mysterious stranger then was on the point of 
setting oft'. This was the only chance I should ever 
have of knowing him. I sprang out of bed, scram- 
bled to the window, snatched aside the curtains, and 
just caught a glimpse of the rear of a person get- 
ting in at the eoaeh-door. The skirts of a brown 
coat parted behind, and gave me a full view of the 
broad disk of a pair of drnb breeches. The door 
closed — " all right !" was the word — the coach 
whirled off: — and that was all I ever saw of the 
Btout gentleman! 


It is a common practice with those who have out- 
lived the susceptibility of early feeling, or have 
been brought up in the gay heartlessness of dis- 
sipated life, to laugh at all love stories, and to treat 
the tales of romantic passion as mere fictions of 
novelists and poets. My observations on human 
nature have induced me to think otherwise. They 
have convinced me, that however the surface of the 
character may be chilled and frozen by the cares of 
the world, or cultivated into mere smiles by the arts 
of society, still there are dormant fires lurking in the 
depths of the coldest bosom, which, when once 
enkindled, become impetuous, and are sometimes 
desolating in their effects. Indeed, I am a true 
believer in the blind deity, and go to the full extent 
of his doctrines. Shall 1 confess it? I believe in 
broken hearts, and the possibility of dying of dis- 
appointed love. I do not, however, consider it a 
malady often fatal to my own sex ; but I firmly 
believe that it withers down many a lovely woman 
into an early grave. 

Man is the creature of interest and ambition. His 
nature leads him forth into the struggle and bustle 
of the world. Love is but the embellishment of his 
early life, or a song piped in the intervals of the 
acts. He seeks for fame, for fortune, for space in the 
world's thought, and dominion over his fellow men. 
But a woman's whole life is a history of the affec- 
tions. Her heart is her world : it is there her ambi- 
tion strives for empires ; it is there her avarice seeks 
for hidden treasures. She sends forth her sympa- 
thies on adventures ; she embarks her whole soul in 
the traffic of affection ; and if shipwrecked, her case 
is hopeless — for it is a bankruptcy of the heart. 

To a man the disappointment of love may occa- 

sion some bitter pangs: it wounds some feelings of 
tenderness — it blasts some prospects of felicity ; but 
he is an active being — he may dissipate his thoughts 
in the whirl of varied occupation, or may plunge 
into the tide of pleasure; or, if the scene. of disap- 
pointment be too full of painful associations, he can 
shift his abode at will, and taking as it were the 
wings of the morning, can "fly to the uttermost 
parts of the earth, and be at rest." 

But woman's is comparatively a fixed, a secluded, 
and a meditative life. She is more the companion 
of her own thoughts and feelings ; and if they are 
turned to ministers of sorrow, where shall she look 
for consolation ? Her lot is to be wooed and won ; 
and if unhappy in her love, her heart is like some 
fortress that lias been captured and sacked, and 
abandoned and left desolate. 

How many bright eyes grow dim — how many soft 
cheeks grow pale — how many lovely forms fade 
away into the tomb, and none can tell the cause 
that blighted their loveliness! As the dove will 
clasp its wings to its side, and cover and conceal the 
arrow that, is preying on its vitals, so is it in the 
nature of women to hide from the world the pangs 
of wounded affection. The love of a delicate female 
is always shy and silent. Even when fortunate, 
she scarcely breathes it to herself; but when other- 
wise, she buries it, in the recesses of her bosom, and 
there lets it cower and brood among the ruins of 
her peace. With her the desire of the heart has 
failed. The great charm of existence is at an end. 
She neglects all the cheerful exercises which glad- 
den the spirits, quicken the pulses, and send the 
tide of life in healthful currents through the veins. 
Her nest is broken — the sweet refreshment of sleep 
is poisoned by melancholy dreams — "dry sorrow 
drinks her blood," until her enfeebled fiame sinks 
under the slightest external injury. Look for her, 
after a little while, and you will find friendship 
weeping over her untimely grave, and wondering 
that one, who but lately glowed with all the 
radiance of health and beauty, should so speedily 
be brought down to " darkness and the worm." 
You will be told of some wintry chill, some casual 
indisposition, that laid her low; — but no one knows 
of the mental malady that previously sapped her 
strength, and made her so easy a prey to the spoiler. 

She is like some tender tree, the pride and beauty 
of the grove ; graceful in its form, bright in its 
foliage, but witli the worm preying at its heart. 
We find it suddenly withering, when it should be 
most fresh and luxuriant. We see it drooping its 
branches to the earth, and shedding leaf by leaf; 
until, wasted and perished away, it falls even in the 
stillness of the forest ; and, as we muse over thG 
beautiful ruin, we strive in vain to recollect the 
blast or thunderbolt that could have smitten it with 

I have seen many instances of women running to 
waste and self -neglect, and disappearing gradually 
from the earth, almost as if they had been exhaled 
to heaven ; and have repeatedly fancied that I could 
trace their death through the various declensions of 
consumption, cold, debility, languor, melancholy, 
until I reached the first symptom of disappointed 
love. But an instance of the kind was lately told 
to me; the circumstances are well known in the 
country where they happened, and I shall but give 
them in the manner they were related. 

Every one must recollect the tragical story of 

young E , the Irish patriot ; it was too touching 

to be soon forgotten. During the troubles in Ire- 
land he was tried, condemned, and executed, on a 
charge of treason. His fate made a deep impression 
on public sympathy. He was so young — so intelli- 



gent — so generous — so brave — so every thing that 
we are apt to like in a yom.g man. His conduct 
under trial, too, was so lofty and intrepid. The 
noble indignation with which he repelled the charge 
of treason against his country — the eloquent vindica- 
tion of his name — rind his pathetic appeal to posterity, 
in the hopeless hour of condemnation — all these 
entered deeply into every generous bosom, and even 
ijhis enemies lamented the stern policy that dictated 
*; his execution. 

But there was one heart, whose anguish it would 
be impossible to describe. In happier days and 
fairer fortunes, he had won the affections of a 
beautiful and interesting girl, the daughter of a late 
celebrated Irish barrister. She loved him with the 
disinterested fervour of a woman's first and early 
love. When every worldly maxim arrayed itself 
against him; when blasted in fortune, and disgrace 
and danger darkened around his name, she loved 
him the more ardently for his very sufferings. If, 
then, his fate could awaken the sympathy even of 
his foes, what must have been the agony of her, 
whose whole soul was occupied by his image? Let 
those tell who have had the portals of the tomb sud- 
denly closed between them and the being they most 
loved on earth — who have sat at its threshold, as 
one shut out in a cold and lonely world, from 
whe ice all that was most lovely and loving had 

But then the horrors of such a grave ! so fright- 
ful, so dishonoured ! There was nothing for memory 
to dwell on that could soothe the pang of separation 
— none of those tender, though melancholy circum- 
stances, thnt endear the parting scene— nothing to 
melt sorrow into those blessed tears, sent, like the 
dews of heaven, to revive the heart in the parting 
hour of anguish. 

To render her widowed situation more desolate, 
Bhe hnd incurred her father's displeasure by her un- 
fortunate attachment, and was an exile from the 
paternal roof. But could the sympathy and ki,.d 
offices of friends have reached a spirit so shocked 
and driven in by horror, she would have experienced 
no want of consolation, for the Irish are a people of 
quick an 1 generous sensibilities. The most delicate 
and cherishing attentions were paid her by families 
of wealth ami distinction. She was led into society, 
and they tried by all kinds of occupation and 
amusement to dissipate her grief, and wean her 
from the tragical story of her love. But it was all 
in vain. There are some strokes of calamity that 
scathe and scorch the soul — that penetrate to the 
vital seat of happiness — and blast it, never again to 
put forth bud or blossom. She never objected to 
frequent the haunts of pleasure, but she was as 
much alone there as in the depths of solitude. She 
walked about in a sad reverie, apparently uncon- 
scious of the world around her. She carried with 
her an inward woe that mocked at all the blandish- 
ments of friendship, and " heeded not the song of the 
charmer, charm he never so wisely." 

The person who told me her story had seen her 
at a masquerad !. There can be no exhibition of far- 
gone wretchedness more striking' and painful than 
to meet it in such a scene. To find it wandering 
like a spectre, lonely and joyless, where all around 
is gay — to see it dressed out in the trappings of 
mirth, and looking so wan and woe-begone, as if it 
had tried in vain to cheat the poor heart into a 
momentary forgetfulness of sorrow. After stroll- 
ing through the splendid rooms and giddy crowd 
with an air of utter abstraction, she sat herself down 
on the steps of an orchestra, and looking about for 
some time with a vacant air, that showed her insen- 
sibility to the garish scene, she began, with the 

enpriciousness of a sickly heart, to warble a little 
plaintive air. She had an exquisite voice ; baton 
this occasion it was so simple, so touching, it breath- 
ed forth such a soul of wretchedness, that she drew 
a crowd mute and silent around her, and melted 
evei-y one into tears. 

The story of one so true and tender could not but 
excite great interest in a country remarkable for 
enthusiasm. It completely won theheart of a brave 
officer, who paid his addresses to her, and thought 
that one so true to the dead could not but prove 
affectionate to the living. She declined his atten- 
tions, for her thoughts were irrevocably engrossed 
by the memory of her former lover. He, however, 
persisted in his suit. He solicited not her tender- 
ness, but her esteem. He was assisted by her con- 
viction of his worth and her sense of her own desti- 
tute and dependent situation, for she was existing on 
the kindness of friends. In a word, he at length suc- 
ceeded in gaining her hand, though with the solemn 
assurance that her heart was unalterably another's. 

He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a 
chai ge of scene might wear out the remembrance 
of early woes. She was an amiable and exemplary 
wife, and made an effort to be a happy one ; but 
nothing could cure the silent and devouring melan- 
choly that had entered into her very soul. She 
wasted away in a slow but hopeless decline, and at 
length sunk into the grave, the victim of a broken 


While thus the enterprising Peter was coasting, 
with flowing sail, up the shores of the lordly Hud- 
son, and arousing all the phlegmatic little Dutch 
settlements upon its borders, a great and puissant 
concourse -f warriors was assembling at the city of 
New Amsterdam. And here that invaluable frag- 
ment of antiquity, the Stuyvesant manuscript, is 
more than commonly particular ; by which means I 
am enabled to record the illustrious host that en- 
camped itself in the public square, in front of the 
fort, at present denominated the Bowling Green. 

In the centre then was pitched the tent of the 
men of battle of the Manhattoes; who, being the 
inmates of the metropolis, composed the life-guards 
of the governor. These were commanded by the 
valiant Stoffel Brinkerhoof, who whilome had 
acquire 1 such immortal fame at Oyster Bay — they 
displayed as a standard, a beaver rampant on a 
field of orange ; being the arms of the province, and 
denoting the persevering industry, and the amphi- 
bious origin of the Nederlanders. 

On their right hand might be seen the vassals of 
that, renowned Mynheer Michael Paw, who lorded 
it over the fair regions of ancient Pavonia, and the 
lands away south, even unto the Navesink moun- 
tains, and was moreover patroon of Gibbet Island, 
His standard was borne by his trusty squire, Corne- 
lius Van Vorst ; consisting <>f a huge oyster recum- 
bent upon a sea green field ; being the armorial 
bearings of his favourite metropolis, Communipaw. 
He brought to the camp a stout force of warriors, 
heavily armed, being each clad in ten pair of linsey- 
wolsey breeches, and overshadowed by broad- 
brimuied beavers, with short pipes twisted in their 
hatbands. These were the men who vegetated in 
the mud along the shores of Pavonia ; being of the 
race of genuine copperheads, and were fabled to 
have sprung from oysters. 

At a little distance was encamped the tribe of 
warriors who came from the neighbourhood of Ilell- 
Gate. These were commanded by the Suy Dams, 



and the Van Dams, incontinent hard swearers, as 
their names betokened — they were terrible looking 
fellows, clad in broad-skirted gaberdines, .of that 
curious coloured cloth called thunder and lightning; 
and bore as a standard three Devil's-darning-needles, 
volant, in a flame-coloured field. 

Hard by was the tent of the men of battle from 
the marshy borders of the Wael-bogtig, and the 
country thereabouts — these were of a sour aspect, 
by reason that they lived on crabs, which abound 
in these parts: they were the first institutors of 
that honourable order of knighthood, called Fly 
market shirks ; and if tradition speak true, did 
likewise introduce the far-famed step in dancing, 
called " double trouble." They were commanded 
by the fearless Jacobus Varra Vanger, and had, 
moreover, a jolly band of Breukelen ferrymen, who 
performed a brave concerto on conchshells. 

But I refrain from pursuing this minute descrip- 
tion, which goes on to describe the warriors of 
Bloemendael, and Wee-hawk, and Hoboken, and 
sundry other places, well known in history and 
song — for now does the sound of martial music 
alarm the people of New Amsterdam, sounding afar 
from beyond the walls of the city. But this alarm 
was in a little time relieved, for lo, from the midst 
of a vast cloud of dust, they recognized the brim- 
stone-coloured breeches, and splendid silver leg of 
Peter Stuyvesant, glaring in the sunbeams; and 
beheld him approaching at the head of a formidable 
army, which he had mustered along the banks of 
the Hudson. And here the excellent but anony- 
mous writer of the Stuyvesant manuscript breaks 
out into a brave and glorious description of the 
forces, as they defiled through the principal gate of 
the city that stood by the head of Wall Street. 

First of all came the Van Bummels, who inhabit 
the pleasant borders of the Bronx. These were 
short fat men, wearing exceeding large trunk 
breeches, and are renowned for feats of the trencher ; 
they were the first inventors of suppawu or mush 
and milk. — Close in their rear marched the Van 
Vlotens, of Knats Kill, most horrible quaffers of new 
cider, and arrant braggarts in their liquor. — After 
them came the Van Pelts of Groodt Esopus, dexter- 
ous horsemen, mounted upon goodly switch-tailed 
steeds of the Esopus breed : these were mighty 
hunters of minks and musk rats, whence came the 
word Peltry. — Then the Van Nests of Kimlerhoeek, 
valiant robbers of birds' nests, as their name denotes: 
to these, if report may be believed, are we indebted 
for the invention of slapjacks, or buckwheat cakes. 
— Then the Van Higgir.bottoms, of Wapping's 
Creek ; these came armed with ferrules and birchen 
rods, being a race of schoolmasters, who. first dis- 
covered the marvellous sympathy between the seat 
of honour and the seat of intellect, and that the 
shortest way to get knowledge into the head was 
to hammer it into the bottom. — Then the Van 
Grolls, of Anthony's Nose, who carried their liquor 
in fail' round little pottles, by reason they could not 
bouse it out cf their canteens, having such rare long 
noses. — Then the Gardeniers, of Hudson and there- 
abouts, distinguished by many" triumphant feats, 
such as robbing watermelon patches, smoking rab- 
bits out of their holes, and the like, and by being 
great lovers of roasted pigs' tails: these were the 
ancestors of the renowned congressman of that 
name. — Then the Van Hoesens, of Sing-Sing, great 
choristers and players upon the Jew's-harp: these 
marched two and two, singing the great song of St. 
Nicholas. — Then the Couenhovens, of Sleepy Hol- 
low: these gave birth to a jolly race of publicans, 
who first discovered the magic artifice of conjuring 
e quart of wine into a pint bottle. — Then the Van 

Kortlands, who lived on the wild banks of the 
Croton, and were great killers of wild ducks, being 
much spoken of for their skill in shooting witli the 
long bow. — Then the Van Bunschoteiis, of Nyack 
and Kakiat, who were the first that did ever kick 
with the left foot: they were gallant bush-whackers, 
and hunters of racoons by moonlight. — Then the 
Van Winkles, of Haerlem, potent suckers of eggs, 
and noted for running of horses, and runnii g up of 
scores at taverns: they were the first that ever 
winked with both eyes at once. — Lastly, came the 
Knickerijockeds, of the great town of Schnhtikoke, 
where the folk lay stones upon the houses in windy 
weather, lest they should be blown away. These 
derive their name, as some say, from Fnickcr, to 
shake, and Beker, a goblet, indicating thereby that 
they were sturdy tosspots of }'ore ; but, in truth, it 
"was derived from Knicker, to r.od, and Boeken, 
books, plainly meaning that they were great nod- 
ders or dozers over books : from them did descend 
the writer of this history. 

Such was the legion of sturdy bush-beaters that 
poured in at the grand gate of New Amsterdam. 
The Stuyvesant manuscript, indeed, speaks of many 
more, whose names I omit to mention, seeii g that 
it behoves me to hasten to matters of greater mo- 
ment. Nothii g could surpass the joy and martial 
pride of the lion-hearted Peter, as he reviewed this 
mighty host of warriors ; and he determined no lon- 
ger to defer the gratification of his much wished-for 
revenge upon the scoundrel Swedes at Fort Casimir. 

But before I hasten to record those unmatehable 
events which will be found in the sequel of this 
faithful history, let me pause to notice the fate of 
Jacobus Von Poffenburgh, the discomfited com- 
mander-in-chief of the armies of the Kew Nether- 
lands. Such is the inherent uneharitab'.euess of 
human nature, that scarcely did the news become 
public of his deplorable discomfiture at Fort Casimir, 
than a thousand scurvy rumours -were set afloat in 
New Amsterdam ; wherein it was insinuated, that 
he had in reality a treacherous understandi: g with 
the Swedish commander; that he had long been in 
the practice of privately communicating with the 
Swedes ; together with divers hints about " se- 
cret service money" — to all which deadly charges 
I do not give a jot more credit than 1 think they 

Certain it is, that the general vindicated his cha- 
racter by the most vehement oaths and protes- 
tations, and put every man out of the ranks of 
honour who dared to doubt his integrity. More- 
over, on returning to New Amsterdam, he paraded 
up and down the streets with a crew of hard 
swearers at his heels, — sturdy bottle companions, 
whom he gorged and fattened, and who were 
ready to bolster him through all the courts of 
justice — heroes of his own kidney, fierce-whiskered, 
broad-shouldered, Colbrand-looking swaggerers, not 
one of whom but looked as though he could eat up 
an ox, and pick his teeth with the horns. These 
life-guard men quarrelled all his quarrels, were 
ready to fight all his battles, and scowled at every 
man that turned up his nose at the general, a3 
though they would devour him alive. Their con- 
versation was interspersed with oaths like minute- 
guns, and every bombastic rhodomontado was 
rounded off by a thundering execration, like a 
patriotic toast honoured with a discharge of ar- 

All these valorous vapourings had a considerable 
effect in convincing certain profound sages, many 
of whom began to think the general a hero of 
unutterable loftiness and magnanimity of soul, 
particularly as he was continually protesting on the 



honour of a soldier, — a marvellously high-sounding 
asseveration. Nay, one of the members of the coun- 
cil went so far as to propose they should immortalise 
him by an imperishable statue of plaster of Paris. 

But the vigilant Peter the Headstrong was not 
thus to bo deceived. Sending privately for the 
commander-in-chief of all the armies, and having 
heard all his story, garnished with the customary 
pious oaths, protestations, and ejaculations, — 
"Hirkee, comrade," crie 1 he, "though by your 
own account you are the most brave, upright, and 
ho ;ourable man in the whole province, yet do you 
lie under the misfortune of being damnably traduced 
and immeasurably 'despised. Now though it is cer- 
tainly hard to punish a man for his misfortunes, and 
though it is very possible you are totally innocent 
of the crimes laid to your charge; yet as heaven, at 
present, doubtless for some wise purpose, sees fit to 
withhold all proofs of your i.inoce ice, far be it from 
me to counteract its sovereign will. Beside, I can- 
not couse it to venture my armies with a commander 
who n they despise, or to trust the welfare of my 
peo;>le to a champio i who n they distrust. Retire 
therefore, my friend, from the irksome toils and 
cares of public life, with this comforting reflection 
— that if you be guilty, you are but enjoying your 
just reward — and if iunoee it, that you are not the 
first great and goo I man, who has most wrongfully 
bee i slandered and maltreated in this wicked world 
— doubtless to be better treated in a better world, 
where there shall neither be error, calumny, nor 
persecution. In the meintime let me never see 
your face again, for I have a horrid antipathy to 
the countenances of unfortunate great men like 


Tins institution, situated .at Carlisle, the capital 
of On nherlan 1 c mnty in Pennsylvania, one hun- 
dred and twenty-eight miles from Philadelphia, 
wn founded in the ye ir 1783, by the efforts of an 
assoc : ation in the state, of which the lion. John 
Dickinson, the eminent political writer, and Dr. 
Ben] imin Rush were the most prominent mem- 
bers. It received its name, in the language of the 
charter, "in memory of the great and important 
services rendered to his country by His Excel- 
lency John Dickinson, Esq., president of the Su- 
preme Executive Council," and in commemoration 
of hi* very liberal donation to the institution. 
Dickinson was mtde first president of its board, 
and k> continued till Ids death. Land was se- 
cured in the borough of Carlisle, and some funds 

The neighboring college of New Jersey having 
then acquired great success under the presidency 
of Witherspoon, it was t lought that the fortunes 
of the new enterprise w mid bo secured by pro- 
curing another eminent Scottish divine, of similar 
social and learned standing, for its head. This 
was Dr. Charles Nisbet, long established as a 
clergym m at Montrose, and an influential mem- 
ber in the General Assembly, where his powers 
of wit and argument were keenly appreciated. 
He was at the age of forty-seven when he was 
urged by Dr. Rush, who painted the prospects of 
a collegiate residence in a then remote part of the 
country in his most glowing and somewhat cre- 
dulois strains, to come to America. Friends 
warned and advised, but the divine was touched 
by the prospect, and yielded to the invitation. 
He arrived at Philadelphia in June, 1783, and the 

fourth of the following month, on the celebration 
of the National Independence, reached Carlisle. 
His first experience was that of the illness inci- 
dent to a change of residence to a new country. 
He was dismayed by the attacks of fever and 
ague which he bore with his family, and not less 
by the unsettled state of the country and the 
want of discipline in the youth. His efforts with 
the Trustees for a proper system of education 
were unheeded, so that within the year of his ar- 
rival he resigned his situation, with the intention 
of returning to Scotland. The necessity of re- 
maining during the winter gave him opportunity 
for reflection, and he determined to sustain the 
position. In May, 1780, he was re-elected, and 
soon entered vigorously on the prosecution of his 
duties, performing the extraordinary labor of de- 
livering four concurrent series of lectures on 
logic, the philosophy of the mind, and the Belles 
Lettres, to whicli he even added a fifth, which at- 
tracted great attention, a course on systematic 
theology. In the last lie was an old-fashioned 
Calvinist : in all, he brought the best fruits of the 
Scottish system of instruction to the American 
wilds. One of his pupils, the Rev. Dr. Brown, 
president of Jefferson College, Canonsburg, Pa., 
preserved reports of these lectures, which he cha- 
racterizes as full, thorough, philosophical, and 
appositely illustrated by wit. In a letter con- 
tributed to Dr. Samuel Miller's admirable me- 
| moir of President Nisbet, he gives a specimen 
from one of his discourses on Logic, which fuily 
sustains the last quality.* 

Charles Nisbet. 

The first Commencement of the College was 
held the following year, in 1787, with some suc- 
cess, but the difficulties of the position were too 
great, and the points of antagonism in the gene- 
ral condition of the country too many to Dr. Nis- 
het's strongly, and doubtless, for the most part, 
justly entertained opinions, to permit him to en- 
joy, as such a scholar should, the peaceful honors 
of learning. Be worked hard, was badly paid, 
and struggled ineffectually to bring the education 

* Memoir of Nisbet, p. 821. These lectures surely are worthy 
of being published. 



Dickinson College. 

of the times up to his standard. "You have 
come to the land of promise," said a friend to 
him ; " Yes," he replied, " but it is not the land 
of performance." We may suppose him bitterly 
sarcastic on the rash encouragements of his zealous 
inviter, Rush, with whose opinions, as time went 
on, and that philosopher lent an ear to rapid 
schemes of education without the classics, and 
French dreams of government, he found himself 
in increasing antagonism, Having once accepted 
the post he should have made the best of it, and 
not have railed ineffectually at the world, as his 
letters show him to have done; but there was 
great provocation for his wit in the temper of the 
times, and Carlisle, with its crude pupils and non- 
paying parishioners, was a poor exchange for the 
solid society and support of the best people in 
Scotland, whom he had left behind. Honor 
should be done to his sacrifices and his services to 
American scholarship, and to what was sound in 
his conservative views of public affairs. He de- 
voted himself for eighteen years to the service 
of the college, and died at his post at Carlisle, in 
1804, having just completed his sixty-eighth year. 
He was a man of decided mark and ability, of 
humor equal to that of Wilherspoon, though his 
inferior in soundness of judgment. Dr. Miller's 
account of his life does justice to hi* talents, and 
preserves many interesting memorials of his 
friends in Scotland. 

Dr. Nisbet was a scholar of picked reading in 
the classics and modern European languages ; and 
being possessed of an extraordinary memory as well 
as ready wit, used his copious stores to great ad- 
vantage. He had that vein of humorous drollery 
and satire which Sidney Smith encouraged, and 
which his friend Witherspoon's published writings 
exhibit. His collection of books now rests with 
the Theological Seminary at Princeton, having 
been given to that institution by two of his grand- 
children, the Right Rev. Bishop M'Coskry of Mi- 
chigan and Henry C. Turnbull of Maryland* 

* Dr. Miller's Memoir, p. 801, 

Dr. Nisbet was a polyglott, and a collector of 
odds and ends in all languages. There is proba- 
bly no such olht podrida in America as the " Nis- 
bet Library" of the Princeton Seminary, consist- 
ing wholly of the Doctor's books. Some of these 
are of the 16th, and even 16th, and many of the 
17th century ; and a few of them, though in tat- 
ters, are among the rarest specimens of antiquarian 
bibliography, in the way of Elzevirs, first edi- 
tions, and originals in astrology, and other out- 
of-the-way subjects. They are in Hebrew, Greek, 
Latin, French, Italian, Spanish, German, and 
Dutch, and many of them show how sedulously 
their owner had conned them. 

The associates of Dr. Nisbet in the work of 
education were James Ross, author of a Latin 
Grammar formerly known, professor of the Greek 
and Latin languages ; Mr. Robert Jolmston, pro- 
fessor of Mathematics, and the Rev. Robert Da- 
vidson, with a voluminous professorship of " his- 
tory, chronology, rhetoric, and belles lettres." 

On the death of Dr. Nisbet the last mentioned 
acted for more than five years as president, when 
the office having been offered to Dr. Samuel Mil- 
ler of New York, and declined, the Rev. Jere- 
miah Atwater, D.D., of Middlebury College, Vt., 
was chosen. He delivered his inaugural address 
at the Commencement in 1809. New depart- 
ments of study were introduced, and the college 
gained ground, but difficulties arising in it- go- 
vernment in 1815. Dr. Atwater resigned the presi- 
dency. After this, various efforts and expedients 
of management were resorted to for the repair 
of the exhausted finances, and the college was 
closed for six years. 

In 1822 the" Rev. John M. Mason of New York 
was created president, and held the office for two 
years, but with failing health his great reputation 
could not repair the fortunes of the college. The 
Rev. Dr. William Neill succeeded him, and in 
1829 resigned. The Rev. Dr. Samuel B. How of 
New Jersey was the last occupant prior to the 
transfer of the college interest to the control of 
the Methodist Episcopal Church in 1 S33. A new 



organization was effected; funds were raised, 
and the Rev. John P. Durbin elected president. 
An efficient grammar-school was at the same 
time set on foot. The course of study followed 
the general outline of the New England colleges. 
With Mr. Durbin were associated Professors 
Merritt ; Caldwell, of mental philosophy ; Robert 
Emory, of ancient languages ; the Rev. John 
M'Clintock, of the exact sciences. At present the 
presidency is held by the Rev. Dr. Charles Col- 

The catalogue for 1854 exhibits one hundred 
and forty-eight students in the four classes. 


James TRECOTnio Austin was born in Boston, 
January, 1784. He was educated at the Latin 
School and Harvard College, and on the com- 
pletion of his course at the latter institution in 
1802, studied and commenced the practice of the 
law. In 1806, he married a daughter of Elbridge 
Gerry, then VioPresident of the United States. 
He edited for a time a literary periodical entitled 
The Emerald, but his chief attention was given 
to his profession, in which he rapidly rose to 
eminence. He became the Town Advocate in 
1809, was for twenty years Advocate of Suffolk 
County, and Attorney General of Massachusetts 
from 1833 to 1843. He was also a member of 
the Massachusetts Legislature. In 1815 he de- 
livered a Fourth of July oration at Lexington, 
which was published, and in 1828 a Life of 
Elbridge Gerry.* This work is one of the best 
presentations of the Revolutionary worthies. It 
is written in an agreeable style, and in addition 
to its narrative of the many important public 
transactions in which Mr. Gerry was a prominent 
participant, gives us pleasant glimpses of the 
domestic life of the Revolution, as in the follow- 
ing passages from a chapter on the " Private Life 
of the Members of the Provincial Congress." 

Among the members of the provincial congress, 
suspicion of levity in matters of religion — and every- 
thing was then supposed to have some connexion 
with this subject — would have been fatal to an indi- 
vidual's influence. There were, however, many 
members in that assembly who had been accustomed 
to the elegancies and refinement of polished society. 
The king's government in Massachusetts had not 
indeed been able to borrow the splendour of a court, 
but it had in some degree copied its etiquette and 
politeness, and possibly its less defensible manners. 
Distinctions existed in society not precisely consist- 
ent with republican equality, and a style of ad Iress 
and deportment distinguished those who considered 
themselves in the upper circle, which was visible 
long after the revolution had swept away all other 
relics of the roval government. This early habit 
induced some of the patriots at Watertowu to 
indulge in a little more regard to dress than suited 
the economy of the stricter puritans, in a love for 
better horses, in a social party at dinner, or evening, 
in an attendance on balls and dancing parties, and 
in a fondness for female society of respectability and 


Most men have their besetting sins. It might 

* The Life of Elbridge Gerry. With Contemporary Letters, 
to the close of the American Revolution. Bo&tou: Wells & 
Lilly, 1S28. 8vo. pp. 520. 

have been in vain that the necessity of reasonable 
relaxation was pleaded as an excuse for supposed 
frivolity. The examples of eminent men, their 
friends too, on the other side the Atlantic, would 
have been urged as an excuse equally ineffectual, 
when ample retaliation was taken by the offending 
members in finding some of the sternest of the 
irritated moralists drinking tea, and endeavouring 
to disguise this high crime and misdemeanour by 
having it made in a coffee pot! This indulgence 
of taste at the expense of patriotism, this worse than 
bacchanalian intemperance, prevented for a time any 
remarks on the " court imitations" of the backsliding 

The members of the provincial congress lived in 
the families of the inhabitants of Watertown, and 
held their daily sessions in the meeting-house on the 
plain. The congress opened early, and adjourned 
for an hour to give the members time to dine at one 
o'clock. Two sessions were usually held every day, 
and committees were often engaged till midnight. 
The time, which could be caught from such fatiguing 
duty without neglecting it, might well be devoted 
to rational diversion. 

A gentleman, who paid any attention to his toilet, 
would have his hair combed out, powdered and tied 
in a long queue, a plaited white stock, a shirt ruffled 
at the bosom and over the hands, and fastened at the 
wrist with gold sleeve buttons, a peach bloom coat 
and white buttons, lined with white silk, and stand- 
ing off at the skirts with buckram, a figured silk 
vest divided at the bottom, so that the pockets 
extended on the thighs, black silk small clothes with 
large gold or silver knee buckles, white cotton or 
silk stoekmgs, large shoes with short quarters and 
buckles to match. This dress, sketched from the 
wardrobe of a member, was not peculiarly appro- 
priate to occasions of ceremony, but assumed with 
more or ^ess exactness by the fashionable gentlemen 
of the day. 

The full bottomed wig, the red roquelot, and the 
gold-headed cane, which are seen in some of our 
ancient pictures, belonged to an earlier period, and 
were at that time the appropriate habiliments of 
persons distinguished for their age and wealth. It 
is not many years since some examples of this anti- 
quated fashion were recognised in venerable men, 
who belonged to those interesting times, and seemed 
to connect a past generation with the present. 
They have now, it is believed, ceased from any con- 
nexion with society, if indeed any of them still have 
a being on the earth. 

Mr. Austin has also published Addresses, de- 
livered before the Massachusetts Society for Sup- 
pressing Intemperance and the Massachusetts 
Mechanic Association", Remarks on Chunning's 
Discourse on Slavery, a .Review of his Letter to 
Jonathan Phillips, in which he takes strong 
ground against agitation of the subject, and a 
number of documents on the Municipal Affairs 
of Boston, and on professional subjects. He has 
also contributed to the Christian Examiner, and 
on political topics in the newspapers.* 

Samuel Lorenzo Knapp, a voluminous and useful 
miscellaneous writer, and the author of numerous 
original biographical essays in American literature, 
was born at Newburyport, Massachusetts, in 1784. 
He was prepared for college at the Phillips Aca- 
demy at Exeter ; was graduated at Dartmouth in 

* Loring's Boston Orators, pp. 4T0-47G. 



1804; studied law in the office of Chief-jnstice 
Parsons, and practised the profession with success. 
During the war of 1812 he commanded a regiment 
of state militia stationed for the defence of the 
coast. In 182-1 he hecame editor of the Boston 


Gazette ; he also conducted the Boston Monthly 
Magazine, to which he contributed several arti- 
cles. In 1826 he established the National Re- 
publican, on the failure of which, after an experi- 
ment of two years, he commenced the practice 
of law in New York city. In 1818 he published 
The Travels of All Bey* a small volume pur- 
porting to furnish the observations of an Oriental 
traveller on the society and literature of Boston 
and Cambridge. This was followed in 1821 by 
Biographical Sketches of Eminent Lawyers, and 
Statesmen, and Men of Letters ; in 1828 by the 
Genius of Free-Masonry, or a Defence of the Or- 
der ; and in 1829 by Lectures on American Lite- 
rature^ in which he followed the subject, from 
its earliest sources, with warmth and interest. 
He was also the author of Sketches of Public 
Characters drawn from the Living and the 
Dead,\ a series of letters giving brief sketches 
of the leading politicians, authors, and artists of 
the United States. The Bachelor and Other 
Tales, founded, on American Lncident and Cha- 
racter, appeared in 1836; and in 1832 a small 
volume, entitled Advice in the Pursuits of Lite- 
rature.^ It is dedicated to the members of the 
New York Mercantile Library Association, and 
designed as a guide to the study of English lite- 
rature for persons engaged in business. It con- 
tains a brief review of the Lading English authors 
from Chaucer to the present time, with occasional 
extracts, and a concise survey of European his- 
tory, as connected with literature and the pro- 
gress of learning, from the days of Homer to the 
settlement of the present United States. In 1833 
he published American Biography, or Original 
Biographical Sketches of Distinguished Ameri- 
cans, one of the most valuable of his many pro- 
ductions in this department of literature. The 
volume does not profess to furnish more than a 
selection from the many eminent names which 
have graced our annals, and in this selection the 
author has been guided, in many instances, rather 
by his individual tastes and preferences than by 
the actual eminence of the persons introduced. 
His sketches are anecdotical and spirited, draw- 
ing largely in many cases on his own fund of per- 
sonal recollection, and the work forms an agree- 
able and varied miscellany. It is republished in 
the third volume of The Treasury of Knowledge 

* Extracts from a Journal of Travels in North America, con- 
sisting of an account of Boston and its vicinity. By Ali Bey, 
etc. Translated from the original manuscript. Boston : 1818. 
ISmo. pp. 124. 

t Lectures on American Literature, with Remarks on some 
Passages of American History. New York : 1829. 

t Sketches of Public Characters, drawn from the Living and 
the Dead, with Notices of other Matters, by Ignatius Loyola 
Robertson, LL.D.. aresident of the UuitedStates. New York : 
1S30. 12mo. pp. 260. 

5 Advieciu the Pursuitsof Literature. containing Historical, 
Biographical, and Critical Remarks. By Samuel L. Knapp. 
New York : 1832. 12mo. pp. 296. 

and Library of Reference.* Mr. Knapp was also 
the author of separate biographies, in a condensed 
popular form, of Aaron Burr, Andrew Jackson, 
Daniel Webster, Thomas Eddy, and in 1843 of 
Female Biography of Different Ages and Na- 
tions ;t a pleasant volume, having many points 
of resemblance to his collection of male celebri- 

In addition to these numerous and industri- 
ously prepared volumes, Mr. Knapp was the au- 
thor of several addresses delivered on various 
public occasions. He died at Hopkinton, Mass., 
July 8, 1838. 


Levi Frisbie was born at Ipswich, Mass., in the 
year 1784, and wa* the son of a clergyman of the 
place. He was prepared for college at Andover 
Academy, and entered Harvard in 1798. During 
his collegiate course he supported himself by writ- 
ing several hours a day as a clerk, and by teach- 
ing during the winter vacations. On the comple- 
tion of his course in 1802, he passed a year at a 
school in Concord, and then commenced the study 
of the law, a pursuit which he was soon obliged 
to abandon on account of an affection of the eyes, 
from which he never entirely recovered, beingfor 
some years dependent on the kindness of friends 
who read to him in English and Latin, and to a 
writing apparatus which had been suggested for 
the use of the blind, for the means of literary em- 

In 1805, Frisbie accepted the post of Latin tutor 
in Harvard College, and in 1811 was promoted to 
the professorship of the same department. In 1S17 
he married a daughter of Mr. John Mellen of 
Cambridge, and in the same year entered upon 
the duties of the professorship of " Natural Reli- 
gion, Moral Philosophy, and Civil Polity" prefac- 
ing his course by an Inaugural Address. In 1821 
he was attacked by consumption, and sank in the 
gradual course of that disease to its fatal termina- 
tion, July 9, 1822. 

Frisbie's writings were collected and published 
by his friend and fellow professor, Andrews Nor- 
ton, in 1823. The volume contains, in addition 
to the Address already mentioned, articles on 
Tacitus and Adam Smit/i's Tlieory of Moral Sen- 
timents from the North American Review, Re- 
marks on the Right and Duty of Government to 
provide for the Support of Religion by Law, from 
the " Christian Disciple," extracts from notes of 
his professional lectures, and a few poems includ- 
ing a version of Horace's epistle Ad Julium Flo- 
rum, first published in the General Repository and 
Review. These remains show their author to havt 
been a vigorous thinker and good writer. His 
chief literary labors are inadequately represented, 
as, owing to the weakness of his eyes, he was ac- 
customed to note down merely the heads or occa- 

* New York : C. C. Childs. 1S50. 

+ Female Biography ; containing Notices of Distinguished 
Women of Different Ages and Nations. By Samuel L. Knapp. 
Philadelphia: 1S43. 12mo. pp. 504. 



sional passages in his lectures, which he expanded 
orally when before his class. 

One of his poems, a general favorite, A Castle 
in the Air, not included in the volume of his 
writings, first appeared in the Monthly Antho- 


I'll tell you, friend, what sort of wife, 
Whene'er I scan this scene of life, 

Inspires my waking schemes, 
And when I sleep, with form so light, 
Dances before my ravished sight, 

In sweet aerial dreams. 

The rose its blushes need not lend, 
Nor yet the lily with them blend, 

To captivate my eyes. 
Give me a cheek the heart obeys, 
And, sweetly mutable, displays 

Its feelings as they rise ; 

Features, where pensive, more than gay, 
Save when a rising smile doth play, 

The sober thought you see ; 
Eyes that all soft and tender seem, 
And kind affections round them beam, 

But most of all on me; 

A form, though not of finest mould, 
Where yet a something you behold 

Unconsciously doth please ; 
Manners all graceful without art, 
That to each look and word impart 

A modesty and ease. 

But still her air, her face, each charm, 
Must speak a heart with feeling warm, 

And mind inform the whole : 
With mind her mantling cheek must glow, 
Her voice, her beaming eye must show 

An all-inspiring soul. 

Ah 1 eould I such a being find, 

And were her fate to mine but joined 

By Hymen's silken tie, 
To her myself, my all I'd give, 
For her alone delighted live, 

For her consent to die. 

Whene'er by anxious gloom oppressed, 
On the soft pillow of her breast 

My aching head I'd lay ; 
At her sweet smile eacli care should cease, 
Her kiss iafuse a balmy peace, 

And drive my griefs away. 

In turn, I'd soften all her care, 

Each thought, each wish, each feeling share ; 

Should sickness e'er invade, 
My voice should soothe each rising sigh, 
My hand the cordial should supply; 

I'd watch beside her bed. 

Should gathering clouds our sky deform, 
My arms should shield her from the storm; 

And, were its fury hurled, 
My bosom, to its bolts I'd bare, 
In her defence undaunted dare 

Defy the opposing world. 

Together should our prayers ascend, 
Together humbly would we bend, 

To praise the Almighty name ; 
And when I saw her kindling eye 
Beam upwards to her native sky, 

My soul should catch the flame. 

Thus nothing should our hearts divide, 
But on our years serenely glide, 

And all to love be given ; 
And, when life's little scene was o'er, 
"We'd part to meet and part no more, 

But live and love in heaven.* 

JosEprr Stevens Buckminsxee, an eminent cler- 
gyman and scholar of Boston, was born at Ports- 
mouth, New Hampshire, May 26, 1781. His fa- 
ther the Rev. Joseph Buckminster, himself the 
son of a clergyman, was for thirty-three years 
pastor of the most considerable Congregational 
Society there, and died in 1812 at the age of sixty- 

The younger Buckminster showed strongly 
marked intellectual tendencies from his earliest 
years. He loved books as soon as he could com- 
prehend what they were. He was taught for his 
pastime to read a chapter in the Greek Testament 
before lie could be taught the language itself. 
And when he was between eleven and thirteen 
years old — the period when, at Phillips Academy 
at Exeter, he was prepared for college — his litera- 
ry curiosity was so eager that, beginning one day 
to read Boswell's Johnson, as he chanced to be 
leaning on a mantel-piece, he forgot himself so 
'ong and so completely, that he did not move, until 
he fainted from exhaustion. 

In 17U7, he was entered in Harvard College, 
and when he was graduated there in 1800, at the 
age of sixteen, his performance as the leading 
scholar of his class made an impression still fresh 
in the minds of the few that heard it, and now 
survive, and left a tradition not likely soon to he 
lost. In fact, his college course had attracted 
much notice, and he had already come to bo re- 
garded as the most remarkable young man who 
had appeared in New England for more than one 

The two next years were spent by him as a 
teacher in the academy at Exeter, devoting his 
leisure to such a thorough study of the ancient 
classics, as was at that time unknown among us; 
and then lie gave three years more to an equally 
thorough study of theology, -which had been his 
favorite purpose from childhood. This, of course, 
was followed by his public appearance as a candi- 
date for the ministry ; but he had preached only 
a few discourses when, early in 1805, he was set- 
tled over the society in Brattle-street, Boston ; — 
then, and from the period before the Revolution, 
regarded as of metropolitan dignity among the 
congregations of New England. 

But there were circumstances connected with 
this decisive event in his life, which should not be 
parsed over, because they largely illustrate the 
position and opinions of the clergy with whom he 
was at the time associated, and had much influ- 
ence on his own. 

* Tho following additional stanza was written by a friend of 
the author on reading the poem : — 

This Castle's fine, its structure good, 
Materials best when understood 

By reason's sober view; 
Fixed on this base by my control, 
No more aerial it shall roll, 

A fortress made by you. 






From the middle of the eighteenth century, the 
old Puritanism of the Pilgrim Fathers had become 
much relaxed in Boston and its neighborhood. Dr. 
Chauncy and his friends by no means acknowledg- 
ed the authority of the Assembly's Shorter Cate- 
chism ; and the stern power of Calvinism necessari- 
ly died out yet more, a little later, when men like 
Dr. Freeman and Dr. Kirkland were enjoying the 
highest consideration of the community in which 
they lived. Mr. Buckminster had been educated 
among the stoutest of the sect, in which, so far as 
New Hampshire was concerned, his father was a 
leader. It was the old school divinity. But his 
own inquiries carried him in a different direction. 
One doctrine after anotherof theCalvinistic system 
was given up by him, until at last he abandoned 
it altogether, and associated himself with the class 
then called Liberal Christians ; — the same, which, 
with some modifications, is now recognised under 
the less , comprehensive name of Unitarians. It 
was a great sorrow to his father; and once or 
twice, the young man nearly abandoned his pur- 
suit of the profession he had chosen, rather than 
run counter to the feelings of one he so much ve- 
nerated. But, at last, the parental assent was 
given, and the elder Buckminster preached his 
son's Ordination sermon. 

His health, however, was uncertain. For four 
or five years he had suffered from slight epilep- 
tic attacks, and his fond and admiring parish, 
alarmed by their recurrence, proposed a voyage to 
Europe. He went in 1806 and returned in 1807 ; 
but though the interval of relaxation thus afford- 
ed him refreshed his strength and increased both his 
resources and his earnestness to use them, no per- 
manent improvement in his health followed. Nor 
did he misinterpret the sad signs of such a visita- 
tion. On the contrary, from memoranda found 
among his papers, as well as from letters to his 
father, it is plain that he understood the usual re- 
sults of the terrible malady with which he was 
afflicted, and foresaw the probable decay and wreck 
of his brilliant powers. But, though he always 

felt that he was standing on the threshold of the 
most awful of human calamities, and that he might 
be required to linger out a life gloomier than the 
grave, he never lost his alacrity in the perform- 
ance of labors however humble or however ardu- 
ous, and walked firmly and gladly onward in the 
path of duty, as if neither danger nor darkness 
were before him. 

But, at last, the summons came — not with the 
dreadful warning he had feared, but with a single, 
crushing blow. He died in Boston June 9, 1812, at 
noon, after only a few days of unconscious illness ; 
and his father, who was then in Vermont journey- 
ing for his health, died the next morning, without 
the least knowledge on his own part, or on the part 
of those near him, that his son was even indispos- 
ed, but saying, almost with his last breath, " My 
son Joseph is dead !" adding when assured that 
he must have dreamed it ; " No, I have not slept 
nor dreamed — he is dead ;" a circumstance, 
which, however much men were persuaded that 
it was an accidental coincidence, produced an 
electric effect at the time, and will be remember- 
ed among the strangest of the few facts of its 
class that are recorded on unquestionable testi- 

Mr. Buckminster was only twenty-eight years 
old when he died. He was ordained as a clergy- 
man before he was twenty-one, and having been 
absent in Europe eighteen months, the proper term 
of his public service was only about five years and 
a half. The period was certainly short; and when 
to this is added his youth, we may well be surpris- 
ed at the large space he filled in the interests of 
the community while he lived, and thepermanent 
results he produced as a scholar and public teacher. 

As a scholar, he did more to revive and esta- 
blish in New England a love for classical litera- 
ture, than any man of his time. The period 
during which the study of the great Greek and 
Roman masters was in favor, and when such a 
book as the "Pietas et Gratulatio" of 1761 could 
be produced at Harvard College, was gone by. 
The Revolution, its trials and consequences, had 
impaired the authority of such studies, and they 
had well nigh died out. His essays and reviews, 
above forty in number, scattered through the 
Boston Monthly Anthology — a publication which 
did good service to the cause of letters between 
1803 and 1811, and out of which, not without his 
efficient help, grew the Boston Athenseum, — show 
beyond all doubt his earnest efforts in this direc- 
tion. When he was in Europe in 1806-7, he col- 
lected a larger and more choice library of the 
ancient classics than was then possessed by any 
other private individual in the United States, and 
thus set the decisive example which has since 
been so well followed. If we add to this, that he 
not only invited young scholars to the freest use 
of its treasures, but by his advice and example 
showed them how best to profit by his kindness, 
it will be understood why it is not too much to 
say, that the first impulse to that pursuit of classi- 
cal accomplishments in Boston and its neighbor- 
hood, which is still recognised there, is due more 
to him and to his library, than to any other cause 

His apparatus for the illustration of the Scrip- 
tures in their original languages, and for the study 
of Biblical criticism, constituted, however, the 



most important part of bis collection of books. In 
this branch of knowledge, his discussions in the 
Anthology and General Repository led the way 
for that careful philological learning which now 
prevails so generally in our schools of divinity. 
Asa foundation for this, Mr. Wm. Wells, at Mr. 
Buckminster's urgent desire, and under his super- 
intendence, published in 1809 an edition of Gries- 
bach's Manual Greek Testament; — the first in- 
stance of a Greek book printed with becoming care 
and accuracy in the United States,* and still we 
suppose the only instance of a Greek book ordered 
in considerable numbers from this side of the At- 
lantic, to supply the demand of British scholars, 
because it had not so early been published in Eng- 
land. It was he too, who, by the consent of all, 
was appointed as the first lecturer on the founda- 
tion laid in Harvard College by the elder Dexter, 
to promote a more critical knowledge of Sacred 
Literature — a duty for which he was just preparing 
himself when he was suddenly cut oft' by death. 
In short, it was he who first took the study of 
the New Testament from the old basis on which 
it had rested during the poor discussions and con- 
troversies of the latter half of the eighteenth cen- 
tury, when little more learning was asked for than 
was to be found in such books as Campbell's Gos- 
pels and Macknight's Epistles; and placed it on 
the solid foundation of the text of the New Testa- 
ment, as settled by Mill, Wetstein, and Griesbach, 
and as elucidated by the labors of Mich'aelis, 
Marsh, and Rosenmuller, and by the safe and wise 
learning of Grotius, Leclerc, and Simon. It has 
been permitted to few persons to render so consi- 
derable a service to the cause of Christianity in 
our Western World. 

But Mr. Buckminster's great popular success 
was as a public preacher. His personal appear- 
ance, and particularly the beauty of his counte- 
nance, beaming with intelligence and goodness; his 
voice remarkable for its sweetness and solemnity ; 
and iiis gracious manner, natural almost to care- 
lessness, but marked with great earnestness, espe- 
cially in his devotional services — all these circum- 
stances favored, no doubt, the effect of his dis- 
courses as they were delivered. But we now 
judge them only as compositions which the press 
has given to the world to be estimated according 
to their appropriateness to the purpose for which 
thej' were prepared, and according to their intrin- 
sic literary merits. He published only four dur- 
ing his lifetime; a short address at the ordination 
of his friend the Rev. Charles Lowell, in 1806 ; a 
sermon on the death of Gov. Sullivan, who was 
his parishioner, in 1808 ; his brilliant Discourse 
before the Phi Beta Kappa Society, of Cambridge, 
in 1809 ; and in 1811, a sermon on the death of the 
Rev. Wm. Emerson, with whose religious society 
his own was much connected. But after his death 
twenty-four of his sermons were selected and pub- 
lished, in 1814, with a memoir of his life, bv his 
friend the Rev. S. C. Thatcher, to which, in iS29, 
another volume was added, containing twenty- 
two ; and in 1839, the whole, with some extracts 
from his MSS. that had previously appeared in a 

* The first Greek type nsed in the United States wm used in 
printing an original Greek ode and an original Greek eletry, 
Doth by Stephen Sewaii, afterwards Professor of Hebrew in 
Harvard College. This was in 1761, at Boston. 
vol. ii. — 5 

religious periodical, were published together in 
two volumes. They are all carefully written, or 
at least they seem to be so ; and yet they were 
all prepared when he was between twenty and 
twenty-eight years old, as the hurried demands of 
duty called for them ; and they were all necessa- 
rily given to the press without that final revision 
by their author, which is always so important. 

Before his time, the sermons of New England had 
been chiefly doctrinal, and generally either dull or 
metaphysical ; and, although a different style of 
preaching, one more practical and more marked 
with literary grace and religious sensibility, had 
begun to prevail in Boston and its neighborhood, 
before Mr. Buckminster appeared, yet only oc- 
casional discourses of the sort had been published; 
and the volume of his sermons printed in 1814 
undoubtedly gave the decisive and the guiding 
impulse to the better maimer that has prevailed 


Tnis distinguished jurist and scholar was a native 
of Maryland, born in the city of Baltimore Dec. 
25, 1784, of a family eminent for its literary ac- 
complishments. He early devoted himself to the 
study of the law, and was for a long time one of 
its leading practitioners in the state. Incited by 
a love of the profession and an ardent desire for 
its advancement, he spared neither labor nor 
means to advance its interests. The position 

which he held for nearly twenty years, from 1817 
to 1836, as Professor of Law in the University of 
Maryland, enabled him to render his accomplish- 
ments as a scholar directly available in this di- 
rection. He illustrated the study of the law in 
a series of publications ; the first of which, is- 
sued in 1817, was his Course of Legal Study, a 
work which secured the respect of the soundest 
legal judgments; Marshall, Kent, Story, and De 
Witt Clinton, and other eminent authorities at 
home and abroad, bestowing their commendations 
on it for the method and acumen of its conception 
and execution. This work re-appeared in an en- 
larged and improved form in 1836. His next publi- 

* Mr. Buckminster's principal publications in the periodicals 
of bis time are : — ■ 

lStlo Review of Miller's Retrospect of the xviii. cent. ; in the 
Cambridge Literary Miscellany — bis first appearance as 
an author. 
1S05 Review of the Salem Sallust; the first ancient classic 
printed in the United States, with original Latin preface 
and notes. Boston Anthologv, vol- ii. 
1808 Review of Logan's Translation of Cicero's Cato Maior, 
published by Dr. Franklin. Philadelphia, 1744— the first 
translation of an ancient classic made and printed in the 
United Stales. Three articLs in the Boston Anthology, 
vol. v. 
1803, 1809, 1811. Articles on Griesbacb's New Testament in 
the Boston Antholosry, vols. v. vi.and x., and in the Gene- 
ral Repository and Review, Cambridge, vol. i. 
1812 Translation from Schleusner's Lexicon, with notes. His 
last publication. 
We are indebted for this notice of Buckminster to the pen of 
Mr. George Ticknor, of Boston. It has been reduced from a 
biographical review which he published in the Christian Exami- 
ner for September, 1S49. 


cation was the Legal Outlines in 1836, a succinct 
and elaborate exposition of the practice and study 
of the law. The next year Mr. Hoffman admitted 
the public to a participation of some of his indi- 
vidual moods and humors, the result of his study 
of books and the world, in his volume of Essays, 
entitled Miscellaneous Tlwughts on Men, Manners, 
and Things, by Anthony Grumbler, of Grumble- 
ton Hall, Esq. A second volume, which may be 
regarded as a sequel to this, followed in 1841, 
Viator ; or a Pesp into my Note Book. A pas- 
sage from the dedication of the latter to Thomas 
D'Oj'ly, E^q., Serjeant at law, London, will exhibit 
the author's motive and the general complexion 
of his thoughts. " It is one of a series on a great 
variety of topics ; the whole being designed to be 
illustrative and somewhat corrective of what is 
called the new school, and to portray the un- 
happy influences of the present mania in litera- 
ture over men, manners, and things, as thc-y ap- 
pear, chiefly on this side of the broad Atlantic — 
and also to recall readers to some retrospect of 
by-gone days ; and finally, to contrast them with 
that fashionable ultraism so prevalent here, and 
which is no less obvious in our law, government, 
morals, and religion, than it manifestly is in our 
popular literature." Though in the form of light 
literature these books, in a pleasant way, contain 
various important discussions of law, art, religion, 
literature, in a style of popular philosophy. They 
are the productions of a lover of books and of 
men. The brief aphoristic essay was an e-pecial 
favorite of the author. In the words of the 
motto of his Note Book, from Butler — 

'Tis in books the chief 
Of all perfections to be plain and brief. 

In the preface of his " Introductory Letters" 
(1837) he mentions that "This volume, together 
with the two editions of the author's Course of 
Legal Study, and his Legal Outlines, as also his 
Moot Court Decisions, and Abridgment of Lord 
Coke's Reports, with Notes, will afford, as he 
hopes, sufficient evidence, were any needed, that 
in breaking up the law professorship, the trus- 
tees have done the author no little injustice, and 
themselves no great credit." The two last- 
named, " Moot Court Decisions" and " Coke's Re- 
ports," were prepared for the press, but never 
published. The manuscripts are now in posses- 
sion of his family, by whom they may at some 
future time be given to the world. 

In 1846 he published, in Philadelphia, Legal 
Hints, being a condensation of the leading ideas 
as relating to Professional Deportment, contain- 
ed in " A Course of Legal Study," with the addi- 
tion of "Some Counsel to Law Students." In 
the preface to this book, Mr. Hoffman says : — ■ 
" It has been suggested to the author to publish 
separately, in a small manual, the following ob- 
servations on Professional Deportment, which 
forms a division in the second volume of the 
work (Legal Study). This suggestion is acqui- 
esced in from a deep conviction that the high 
tone of the bar has suffered some impairment, 
consequent upon its immense increase in this 
country within the last ten years — a cause, as 
well as effect, of the lamentable fact alluded to. 
Such a little ' Vade Mecum,' it is thought, might 
often prove useful, where the larger work might 

not be found ; and with a sincere desire to do all 
the good to so noble a profession that may be in 
the author's humble competency, he now submits 
this little volume." 

In this short space may be found a fair expo- 
sition of the ruling motives of the life of this 
amiable and accomplished gentleman. In all the 
excitements of professional contests, or in the 
privacy of social life, the same sentiments seem 
to have been breathed. To elevate, to refine, to 
bring into closer connexion those with whom he 
had business or social relation, was with him a 
great source of pleasure ; and there is apparent, 
everywhere in his writings known to the pub- 
lic, and in his private correspondence, a sin- 
cere and earnest desire to soften and ameliorate 
in every possible way, the hard and forbidding 
aspect presented to the beginner in his struggle 
with the world. 

After the termination of his law professo^hip, 
Mr. Hoffman, with a view to relaxation, visited 
England and the Continent, where he remained 
for about two years. Upon his return he entered 
into the political campaign then pending, favor- 
ing with great earnestness the election of Gene- 
ral Harrison to the presidency, and was chosen 
one of the senatorial electors from the State of 
Maryland. Upon the conclusion of the contest 
he settled in Philadelphia, resuming the practice 
of the law, remaining in that city until 1847, in 
the fall of which } r ear he again visited Europe, 
with a view to the completion of the great work 
of his life, entitled Chronicles selected from the 
Originals of Cartaphilxis, the Wandering Jew. 
During his residence in London he wrote a num- 
ber of able articles, explaining the political and 
social economy of the U. S. government and 
people, which were published in the London 
Times, and were highly esteemed as truthful and 
reliable expositions of the subjects which they 
treated. The first volumes of the Cartaphilus 
were published in London, in 1853, by Bosworth, 
in an original style. The design and object of the 
work was to represent, in as compact and inte- 
resting view as possible, the History of the World, 
from the time of our Lord to the present; at 
the same time leading the mind of the reader 
into a more full understanding and consideration 
of the position of the different nations, their 
modes of government, and many other interest- 
ing subjects, — but more particularly showing the 
condition of the different religious sects — their 
rise, causes, success, and the events which fol- 
lowed — altogether forming a view of the most 
important changes in the positions of the nations 
since the commencement of the Christian era. 
This end is supposed to have been attained 
through the agency of Cartaphilus (the Wander- 
ing Jew). The tradition is taken up by the 
author, and carried successfully through the 
whole work. The book was originally intended 
to occupy six quarto volumes, two of which, as 
before mentioned, had been published, and the 
third printed in proof save about one hundred 
and twenty pages, of which the manuscript was 
prepared and ready for the press at the time of 
the death of Mr. H. These three volumes in- 
clude the first series, the second volume bring- 
ing the "chronicles" down to the year of grace 



Of the second series (of three volumes, making 
the six) a great portion of the manuscript had 
been prepared, but not corrected. 

This work, which in extent of reading is wor- 
thy to rank with the folios of an earlier day, 
shows the curious tastes and literary diligence of 
the author. lie was always a careful conserva- 
tor of antiquity ; nor did he neglect the present, 
as the valuable collections of his library, which 
at several instalments have been disposed of to 
the public, and are now gathered in various pub- 
lic and private libraries, have fully witnessed. 

He returned to this country from England in 
December, 1853, and became engaged in the ar- 
rangement of his private affairs, which long 
absence from the country had made a source of 
some solicitude. In the proper forwarding of 
this purpose be was much occupied in travelling. 
While on a visit to New York, in 1854, he died 
suddenly of apoplexy, November 11th of that 
3'ear. Ilis remains were taken to Baltimore for 

Mr. Hoffman had received, during his life, a 
number of honorary degrees from different insti- 
tutions of learning in this country and Europe, 
the principal of which were that of LL.D., from 
the University of Maryland; alio a like degree 
from the University of Oxford, England; and 
that of Juris Utri. Doct. Gottingen, besides 
other honorary degrees from several societies 
of " Savants." 


In the following pages my readers will find I have, 
in some degree, consulted the prevalent taste, by 
endeavouring, occa.uon.alii/, to convey my moral, or 
instruction, as the case may be, ill something after 
the fashion of a tale ! and, when this is not the case, 
by imparting to each theme as much of life and ease 
as may consist with the nature of my topics — and of 
my own nature. And yet truly, I have never seen 
any reason why the gravest, nay, even the most re- 
condite subjects, mny not be popularly, and some- 
times even sportively handled; and I believe that 
the writings of the philosophers, of the school-men, 
and even of the early fathers of the " mother church," 
might be thus dealt with, and profitably withal, yet 
without the least disparagement of their dignity — 
and that when so taken up, our surface readers may 
thus gain some knowledge of facts and opinions in 
forgotten literature and science, that otherwise might 
never have reached them ! lie this as it may, I shall 
complete my series, in my own way, both as to mat- 
ter and maimer, justly hoping, but not ardently crav- 
ing, that if in the present day and generation, very 
many should be disposed humourously to say of me — 

Our author thus with stuff d sufficieDcy, 
Of all omnigenous omnisciency, 

Began (as who would not begin, 
That had, like him, so much within?) 
To let it out in buoksof all sorts, 
In duodecimos, large and small sorts I — 

the generation after it may possibly exclaim, " Oh 
Vandal age, now gone by! it was not given to thee, 
whilst in the cartilage, to be nourished on the pith 
and marrow of that author ; but we, who are now 
in the muscle and bone of maturity, profit by his 
counsels, and take just pride in his old-fashioned 
wisdom." And thus is it that authors do sometimes 
take comfort unto themselves, even at the moment 
that some Zoilus would deprive them of this most 
benign self-complacency. 

But; you all remember how, some thirty centuries 
ago, a powerful monarch, and the wisest of men, thus 

! chronicles a lesson of humility for all authors — one 
that is, and will be, equally true in all past, present, 
and future ages — " my son be admonished — of making 
books there is no end — -much stud/f is a weariness of 

i the flesh." And yet it would seem strange that in 
his da}', when printing, stereotypes, and steam-press- 
es were wholly unknown, Solomon should have had 
reason to feel so strongly the vanity, and absolute 

I nothingness of authorship ! "Where are now the 
works, nay even the names of the myriads who then 

i toiled for fame, if, for a bubble so perishable, they 
did toil, which hath ever seemed to me a most unphi- 

j losophical libel against the whole fraternity of au- 

! thors, from Solomon's to the present day ? I cannot 
harbour the thought that the love of fame ever 
guided the pen of any author, be he a maker of pri- 
nters or of folios, and whether he were a Parley or a 
Shakespeare, a Pinnock or a Milton, a Boz or a 
Bacon, a Jack Downing or a Newton! — but contra- 
riwise, I do verily opine, that nearly every other 
conceivable motive, rather than the love of praise, 
either present or posthumous, has attended them 
throughout their labours of the pen ! To recount 
the incitements that may prompt and nourish au- 
thorship, would itself require a volume, in which 
fame, however, would occupy but an' insignificant 
section. Even in Lord Byron, it was the dread of 
ennui, an indomitable imagination, a partial misan- 
thropy, or rather a disgust towards some men and 
things, a strong love of satire, an arrogant contempt 
of ignorance and of folly — and, in fine, a thousand 
other motives which stimulated his pen more con- 
stantly and fervently, than any regard for " golden 
opinions." And though the noble author has said, 

'Tis pleasant, sure to sec one's name in print; 
A book s a book, although there's nothing in't; 

yet all know the spirit with which this couplet was 
written, and that no one was less inclined than his 
lordship, to practise what he so much condemned in 
others. The truth is, fame is the last and least of all 
the motives that lead to authorship of any kind — 
and if the lives of Voltaire — of Lope de Vega — of 
Bacon — of Sir Walter Scott, nay of all other volu- 
minous writers, be closely examined, I cannot but 
think it would be found that much stronger, and 
more numerous incitements, than the praises of men, 
led them on from small beginnings to great results, 
in authorship. Young, in his epistle to Pope, has 
recorded some of the motives; and he might have 
easily filled his poetical letter with them. 

Some write confin'd by physic; some by debt; 
Some, for 'tis Sunday ; some because 'tis wet; 
Another writes because his lather writ, 
And proves himself a bastard by his wit. 

And I may add, some write because they are the 
merriest crickets that chirp ; others, lest they should 
be drowned in their own gall, did they not periodi- 
cally vent their spleen ; some write from mere reple- 
tion of learning ; others from doubts whether they pos- 
sess any ! With some, composition is scarce an intel- 
lectual toil, but affords them the highest mental grati- 
fication ; with others, it is a labour essential to the 
fixation of their thoughts, and to the ascertainment 
of their own resources; some, without the least alloy 
of selfishness, are actuated solely by the hope of be- 
nefiting their readers; others are prompted by 
every other selfish consideration, save that of fame. 
Be the motive, however, what it may, no author, in 
our day, judging from the past, can repose with 
much confidence, on securing the grateful remem- 
brance of future ages. Dr. Johnson was the idol of 
his day, and for half a generation after! but his Die- 



tionarv, "which made him, now reposes on many 
shelves, as mere dead lumber ; and even our scho-. 
lars seem to delight in demonstrating his etymolo- 
gical ignorances! Who, of this nineteenth century, 
now reads the Rambler? — not one in ten thousand! 
Who, as in former days, now with delight pore over 
his truly admirable Lives of the Poets? Kot one, in 
as many hundred — his poetry ? one here and there — 
his' Miscellaneous Works? scarce any! And so of 
Milton, Pope, Bolingbroke, Goldsmith, with the ex- 
ception of his Vicar of Wakefield; and Hume, like- 
wise, excepting his History of England. Who now 
reads Spenser — Chaucer — Ben Jonson — Davenant — 
Glover — Marvell — Daniel — Cartwright — Hurdis — 
Chamberlayne — Sir Philip Sidney — Sir John Suck- 
ling, or even the best among the early English dra- 
matic writers? — few, very few! And, may we not 
with truth ask, are not the plays, even of the im- 
mortal bard of Avon, comparatively but little read* 
and still less often enacted ; and have they not re- 
cently sought more genial realms, and become more 
familiar to German, than even to English ears? 
Well hath Spenser exclaimed — 

How many ones may remembered be. 
Which in their days most famously did flourish, 
Of whom no word* we hear, nor sign now see, 
But as things wip'd with sponge do perish! 


Gut.ian Crommelin Yervlaxck, a name which 
in itself indicated its owner's descent from the 
founders of the Empire State, was born in the 
city of New York. He was one of the class of 
1801, of Columbia College, and afterwards de- 
voted himself to the law. 

After being admitted to the Bar, Mr. Verplanck 
passed several years in Em-ope. On his return, 
he became interested in politics, and was elected 
a member of the State Legislature. In 1818 he 
delivered the first of the series of public ad- 
dresses on which his literary reputation is mainly 
founded. In this discourse, pronounced on the 
anniversary of the New York Historical Society, 
after lamenting the lack of interest in the history 
of their own country manifested by his fellow- 
countrymen, he announces as his theme The Early 
European Friends of America. In pursuance of 
tins subject he introduces well sketched portraits 
of Las Casas, Williams, Lord Baltimore, Penn, 
Locke, Oglethorpe, Berkeley, and Hollis. From 
these names he passes to a tribute to the virtues 
of the Dutch and the Huguenots, and an enforce- 
ment of their claims to American gratitude. The 
comment which this portion of the, discourse 
occasioned, furnishes sufficient evidence of the 
popular ignorance on the subject, and the need 
of the orator's exertions to arouse his fellow- 
townsmen to an assertion of the at least equal 
claims of their progenitors to those of any other 
portion of the Union, to the honor of having 
established the principles and the prosperity, the 
wise theory and successful practice of our con- 
federacy. Mr. Verplanck's address passed through 
several editions, and secured him the respect of 
the friends of American history throughout the 
land. In the following year a little volume of 
political verse, The State Triumvirate, a Politi- 
cal Tale, and The Epistles of Brevet Major 
Pinrlar Puff, appeared anonymously. Its author- 
ship lias never been claimed, but Mr. Verplanck 
has usually received the credit of having had the 
chief hand in its production. The satire is prin- 

cipally levelled at the laudation of De Witt Clin- 
ton by his party friends, and contains a close 
review of the governor's literary pretensions. 
The volume is plentifully garni.-hed with prolego- 
mena, notes, and other scholastic trimmings by 
Scriblerus Busby, LL.D. Among the squibs of 
the town wits of this period is a clever brochure, 
attributed to Verplanck, on the inauguration of 
Dr. Hosack as President of the New York Histo- 
rical Society. It is entitled, Proces Verbal of the 
Ceremony of Installation. The distinguished 
political and other local celebrities of the day are 
introduced as a committee of arrangement, seve- 
rally taking part in the grand ceremonial. 
General Jacob Morton, Dr. Valentine Mott, the 
learned Dr. Graham, and other city magnates, 
tender various addresses in doggrel Latin. Mr. 
Simpson, of the Park Theatre, acts as stage 
manager for the ceremony. At an important 
stage of the proceedings, after a course of ap- 
plause, music, and punch, the oath of office is 
thus ludicrously administered in the investiture 
of the new incumbent, who was the successor of 
Clinton, upon whom much of the satire turns, in 
the office — 

Juras Clinton adorare, 

Piff — part' — puffere, et laudare. 

To which the President shall reply, — ■ 

Juro Clinton adorare, 

Piff — paff — puffere, et laudare. 

This was printed anonymously, " for the use of 
the members," in 1620.* In the same year, Mr. 
Verplanck was chaiiman of the Committee on 
Education, in the legislature. He soon after ac- 
cepted the professor.-hip of the Evidences of 
Christianity in the General Protestant Episcopal 
Seminary, and, in 1824, published Essays on the 
Nature and Uses of the Various Evidences of 
Revealed Religion. \ 

In this work, in addition to the usual historical 
argument of the authenticity of the Scriptures 
from the testimony of mankind, the agreement of 
prophecy with the events which have occurred 
since its promulgation, the harmony of the four 
Evangelists, and other points of a like character, 
the author bring* in evidence the adaptation of 
the Christian religion to the felt requirements of 
the mind of man, two lines of argument which 
have generally been separately urged, but which 
our author rightly regards as mutually aiding 
one another. This work, while close in its argu- 
ment, is written in a fluent and elegant manner. 
It was followed in the succeeding year by An 
Essay on the Doctrine of Contracts.^ The 

* The clique of wits did not enjoy the joke entirely by 
themselves. A sharp volley had been previously fired into 
their camp in a pamphlet, also anonymous, from the other 
side, bearing the title, " An Account of Abimelech Coody and 
other Celebrated Writers of New York : in a Letter from a 
Traveller to his Friend in South Carolina." This bears date 
January, 1S15. It was a defence of the grave and honorable 
pursuits of the memberB of the Historical and Literary and 
Philosophical Society, and of Clinton in particular, who was 
understood to be its author, and who had at least an equal 
talent with his opponents in the satirical line, as his newspaper 
management of the celebrated li forty thieves' 1 witnessed. 

t New York, Chas. Wiley. 1S24. Svo. pp. 267. 

j A n Essay on the Doctrine of Contracts : being an Inquiry 
how Contracts are Affected in Law and Morals by Conceal- 
ment. Error, or Inadequate Price. By Gutian C. Verplanck. 
Quod semper ^Equum et Bonum, jus dicitur. Digest, ]. 11. 
de Juki, et Jure. New York : G. & C. Carvill. 1825. 8vo. 
pp. 234. 



author's object in this treatise is to settle, so fai- 
ns in iv be, " the nature and degree of equality 
required in contracts of mutual interest, as well 
in reference to inadequacy of price, as to the more 
perplexing difficulty of inequality of knowledge." 
The usually received maxim of caveat emptor 
he conceives to be unsound, and urges that the 
taws regulating insurance, by which the owner 
of the property is bound to furnish the under- 
writer witli the fullest information touching its 
character and hazards, should be extended to 
cases of bargain and sale, in which the avowed 
interest of both parties is to furnish an equiva- 
lent in value. In the sale of articles who-e value 
is not determinable, or where the buyer receives 
no guarantee and purchases on that condition, 
such information is not obligatory on the seller, 
nor is he bound to refund in case of a sudden rise 
or fall in the article after the sale, which neither 
anticipated with certainty at the time. The 
essay was occasioned by a desire to. cheek the 
spirit of speculation which has so often run riot 
over the American community, and the author, 
at its outset, makes special reference to a purchase 
of tobacco in New Orlean-, by a party who had 
possession of the fact of a treaty of peacj having 
been signed between the United States and Great 
Britain, at the depressed market price of the 
commodity. As soon as the news on which the 
purchaser traded was known to the seller, he 
brought suit to recover the property. The sale 
was finally pronounced valid by Chief-justice 

In 1825 Mr. Verplanck was elected Member of 
Congress from the city of New York. He re- 
mained in the House of Representatives for eight 
years, and, though seldom appearing as a speaker, 
was prominent in man}' measures of importance, 
and especially in the advocacy of the bill extend- 
ing the term of copyrighffrom twenty-eight to 
forty-two years. At the close of the session (that 
of 1830—1) in which this measure was pa>sed, Mr. 
Verplanck received the well merited compliment 
of a public dinner from "a number of citizens 
distinguished for the successful cultivation of 
letters and the arts."* The theme of his speech 
on the occasion was The Law of Literary Pro- 
perty. It is included in his collected discourses. 
In this he maintains that the right in the product 
of intellectual is the same as in that of manual 

In 1827 Verplanck, Sands, and Bryant united 
in the production of an Annual, called The Talis- 
man. It was illustrated with engravings from 
pictures by American artists, and continued for 
three successive years. In 1833 the volumes 
were republished with the title of Miscellanies 
first published under the name of The Talisman, 
by G. C. Verplanck, W. C. Bryant, and Robert C. 
Sands.f These volumes contain some of the 
choicest productions of their distinguished au- 
thors. Many have since appeared in the col- 
lected writings of Bryant and Sands. One of 
the pleasant papers which may be readily from 
subject and style traced to Verplanck's pen, 
is devoted to Reminiscences of New York, always 

* Note in Discourses and Addresses, by G. C. Verplanck, 
t 3 vols. 18mo. Elam B' . ,- V jr k. 1b3S. 

an inviting theme in his hands. In 1833 a volume 
of Discourses and Addresses on Subjects of 
American, History, Arts, and Literature, by 
Gulian C. Verplanck, appeared from the press of 
the Harpers.* It contains, in addition to the Ad- 
dresses already spoken of, an eulogy of Lord 
Baltimore; an address on the Fine Arts ; a Tribute 
to the Memory of Daniel H. Barnes a well known 
schoolmaster of New York, in which he does 
justice to the calling as well as the individual; an 
address at Columbia College on the distinguished 
graduates of that institution, among whom he 
particularizes Hamilton, Jay, Robert R. Living- 
ston, De Witt Clinton,f Gouverneur Morris, and 
Dr. Mason. The volume closes with an address 
before the Mercantile Library Association, some- 
what similar in purpose to a lecture delivered 
near the close of the same year before the 
Mechanics' Institute,! which contains an admi- 
rable enforcement of the mutual dependence of 
art and science, the toil of the brain and the toil 
of the muscle, on one another, and the importance 
to the business and working man of literature as 
a rational recreation as well as practical instructor 
in his career. 

In 1833, Mr. Verplanck also delivered a dis- 
course, The Right Moral Influence and Use of 
Liberal Studies, at the commencement of Geneva 
College, Aug. 7, 1833 ; and in 1834, on a similar 
occasion at Union College, spoke on the Influence 
of Moral Causes upon Opinion, Science, and Lite- 
rature. In 1836, he delivered one of the most 
celebrated of his discourses, The American, 
Scholar,^ at Union College. The object of this 
production is to show that the mental activity of 
America, the general dissemination of intelli- 
gence, the open path to every species of intellec- 
tual distinction, more than counterbalance the 
opportunities for scholastic retirement, in which 
the new is as yet inferior to the old world. The 
student is warned to build his career in reference 
to the sphere of its employment, and not risk his 
happiness and usefulness by an inordinate longing 
for, or imitation of, models formed under different 
circumstances of age, society, and soil. 

In 1844, the first number of an edition of 
Shakespeare's Plays, edited by Mr. Verplanck, 

* 12mo. pp. 257. 

t In his remarks on Clinton he has a handsome allusion to 
forgetfulness of old difficulties: — 

'■"The memory of De Witt Clinton, the first graduate of our 
Alma Mater after the peace of 1788, is another brilliant and 
treasured possession of this college. After the numerous 
tributes which have so recently been paid to his memory, and 
especially that luminous view of his character as a scholar and 
a statesman, as the promoter of good education and useful im- 
provement, contained in the discourse lately delivered from 
this place by Professor Kenwick, anything I could now say 
on the same subject would be but useless repetition. Else 
would I gladly pay the homage due to his eminent and lasting 
services, and honour that lofty ambition which taught him to 
look to designs of grand utility, and to their successful execu- 
tion, as his arts of gaining or redeeming the confidence of a 
generous and public-spirited people. For whatever of party 
animosity might have ever blinded me to his merits, had died 
away lon<r before his death ; and I could now utter his honest 
praises without the imputation of hollow pretence from others, 
or the mortifying consciousness in my own breast, of render- 
ing unwilling and tardy justice to noble designs and great 
public service." 

t Lecture Introductory to the Course of Scientific Lectures 
before the Mechanics' institute of the City of New \ ork, 
Nov. 27, 1833. By Gullan C. Verplanck. New York : 1838. 

§ The Advantages and the Dancers of the American Scholar. 
A Discourse delivered on the dav preceding the Annual Com- 
mencement of Union College, July 26, 18SB. By Gulian C. 
Verplanck. New York : Wiley and' Long, 1886. 



appeared. The publication was completed in 
1847, tunning three large octavo volumes* The 
object of the publishers was to combine in the 
pictorial department, the attractions of the care- 
ful historical drawings of scenes and costumes of 
Planchc and Harvey with the imaginative de- 
signs of Kenny Meadows, which had recently 
appeared in the London editions of Knight and 
Tyus. Mr. Verpkuick's labors consist of a revi- 
sion of the text, in which he has, in some cases, 
introduced readings varying from those of the 
ordinary editions, of selections from the notes of 
former editors, and the addition of others from 
his own pen. An excellent and novel feature of 
the latter is found in the care with which he has 
pointed out in the teit several of the colloquial 
expressions often called Americanisms, which, 
out of use in England, have been pre-erved in 
this country. Mr. Verplanck has also given ori- 
ginal prefaces to the plays, which, like the notes, 
have the ease and finish common to all his pro- 
ductions. His comments are judicious, and he 
has drawn his information from the best sources. 
Mr. Verplanck has for many years divided his 
time between the city of ]S~e\v York and his 
ancestral homestead at FLhkiil Landing on the 
Hudson, a well preserved old mansion, in which 
the Society of the Cincinnati was founded. He 
is one of the Commissioners of Emigration of the 
city, a member of the vestry of Trinity church, 
and is the incumbent of many other positions 
of trust and usefulness. He preserves in a hale 
old age the clear ruddy complexion with the 
activity of youth. 


Of what incalculable influence, for good or for 
evil upon the dearest interests of society, must be 
the estimate entertained for the character of the 
great body of teachers, and the consequent respect- 
ability of the individuals who compose it. 

"What else is there in the whole of our social sys- 
tem of such extensive and powerful operation on 
the national character ? There is one other influence 
more powerful, and but one. It is that of the 
Mother. The forms of a free government, the 
provisions of wise legislation, the schemes of the 
statesman, the sacrifices of the patriot, are as nothing 
compared with these. If the future citizens of our 
republic are to be worthy of their rich inheritance, 
they must be made so principally through the virtue 
and intelligence of their Mothers. It is in the 
school of maternal tenderness that the kind affections 
must be first roused and made habitual — the early 
sentiment of piety awakened and rightly directed — 
the 6ense of duty and moral responsibility unfolded 
and enlightened. But next in rank and in efficacy 
to that pure and holy source of moral influence is 
that of the Schoolmaster. It is powerful already. 
What would it be if in every one of those School 
districts which we now count by annually increas- 
ing thousands, there were to be found one teacher 
well-informed without pedantry, religious without 
bigotry or fanaticism, proud and fond of his profes- 

* Shakespeare's Plays : with his Life. Illustrated with 
many hundred Wood-cuts, executed by H. W. Hewet. after 
designs by Kenny Meadows, Harvey, and nth- rs. Edited by 
Gulian C. Verplanck, LL.D., with Ciitical Introduction, Notes, 
etc.. original and selected. In 3 vols. Harper & Brothers. 

t From the Tribute to the Memory of Daniel H. Barnes. 

sion, and honoured in the discharge of its duties? 
How wide would be the intellectual, the moral in- 
fluence of such a body of men ? Many such we 
have already amongst us — men humbly wise and 
obscurely useful, whom poverty cannot depress, nor 
neglect degrade. But to raise up a body of such 
men, as numerous as the wants and the dignity of 
the ^country demand, their labours must be fitly 
remunerated, and themselves and their calling 
cherished and honoured. 

The schoolmaster's occupation is laborious and 
ungrateful ; its rewards are scanty and precarious. 
He may indeed be, and he ought to be, animated by 
the consciousness of doii g good, that best of all con- 
solations, that noblest of ail motives. But that too 
must be often clouded by t.oubt aid uncertainty. 
Obscure and ii glorious as his daily occupation may 
appear to learned pride or worldly ambition, yet to 
be truly successful and happy, he must be animated 
by the spirit of the same great principles which in- 
spired the most illustrious benelactois of mankind. 
If he bring to his task high talent and rich acquire- 
ment, he must be content to look into distant years 
: for the proof that his labours have not been wasted 
■ — that the good seed which he daily scatters abioad 
' does not fall on stony giound and wither away, or 
1 among thorns, to be choked by the caies, the delu- 
: sions, or the vices of the world. He must solace hia 
toils with the same prophetic faith that enabled the 
J greatest of modern philosophers,* amidst the neglect 
I or contempt of his own times, to regard himself as 
sowing the seeds of truth for posteiity and the care 
of Heaven. He must arm himself against disap- 
i pointment and mortification, with a portion of that 
same noble confidence which soothed the gieatest 
of modern poets when weighed down by care and 
danger, by poverty, old age, and blindness, still 

In prophetic dream he saw 

The youth unborn, with pious awe, 
Imbibe each virtue from his sacred page. 

He must know and he must love to teach his pu- 
pils, not the meagre elements of knowledge, but the 
secret and the use of their own intellectual stiei gth, 
exciting and enablii g them hereafter to raise for 
themselves the veil which covers the majestic foim 
of Truth. He must feel deeply the reverence due 
to the youthful mind fraught with mighty though 
undeveloped energies and affections, and mysterious 
and eternal destinies. Thence he must have learnt 
to reverence himself and his profession, and to lcok 
upon its otherwise ill-requited toils as their own ex- 
ceeding great reward. 

If such are the difficulties and the discourage- 
ments — such, the duties, the motives, and the con- 
solations of teachers who are worthy of that name 
and trust, how imperious then the obligation upon 
every enlightened citizen who knows and feels the 
value of such men to aid them, to cheer them, and 
to honour them ! 

The author of the Old Oaken Budcet, was (he 
youngest son of a farmer and revolutionary sol- 
dier, and was born atScituate, Ma-s., January 13, 
1785. He had but few educational advantages, 
a% according to the memoir prefixed to his poems 
in 1816, no school was taught in the village, ex- 
cept during the three winter months ; and as a 
mistaken idea of economy always governed the 
selection of a teacher, he was generally as ignorant 
as his pupils. 

* Bacon. " Severe posteris ac Deo immortali." 



Some juvenile verses written by young Wood- 
worth attracted the attention of the village cler- 
gyman, the Rev. Nehemiah Thomas, who gave 
him a winter's instruction in the classics, and en- 
deavored to raise an amount sufficient to support 
him at college, but without success. He was soon 
after apprenticed to a printer, the trade of his 
choice, Benjamin Russell the editor and publisher 
of the Columbian Centinel, Boston. He remain- 
ed with his employer a year after the expiration of 
his indentures, and then removed to New Haven, 
where he commenced a weekly paper called the 
Belles Lettres Repository, of which he was " edi- 
tor, publisher, printer, and (more than once) car- 
rier." The latter duty was probably one of the 
lightest, as the periodical, after exhausting the 
cash received in advance, was discontinued at the 
end of the second month. 

S3voral of Wood worth's poems first appeared in 
The Complete Coiffeur; or an Essay on the Art 
of Adorning Natural and of Creating Artificial 
Beauty. By J. B. M. D. Lafoy, Ladies' Hair Dress- 
er, 1817. This is a small volume of about two 
hundred page-, one half being occupied with a 
French translation of the other. M. Lafoy was 
probably ambitious to follow in the footsteps of 
the illustrious Huggins, or perhaps regarded the 
affair as a shrewd mode of advertising. It is to 
be hoped he paid Woodworth well for this lite- 
rary job. 

Woodworth left New Haven, and after a brief 
sojourn in Baltimore, removed to New York in 
1809. In 1810 he married. During the contest 
of 1812 he conducted a quarto weekly paper en- 
titled The War, and a monthly Swedenborgian 
magazine, The Halcyon Luminary and Theologi- 
cal Repository. Both were unsuccessful. His 
next literary undertaking was a contract in 181C 
"to write a history of the late war, in the style of 
a romance, to be entitled The Champions of Free- 
dom." The work was commenced in March, and 
the two duodecimos were ready for delivery in 
the following October. It possesses little merit 
as history or novel. 

In 1818, a small volume of Woodworth 's poet- 
ical contributions to various periodicals was pub- 
lished in New York. A second collection appear- 
ed in 1826. 

In 1823, he commenced with George P. Morris 
the publication of the New York Mirror, a peri- 
odical with which he remained connected for a 
year. He was a frequent contributor of occasional 
verses to the newspapers, and his patriotic songs 
on the victories of the war of 1812 -14, and on 
other occasions, were widely popular. He was 
the author of several dramatic pieces, mostly ope- 
ratic, which were produced with success. One of 
these, The Forest Rose, keeps possession of the 
stage, on account of the amusing Yankee charac- 
ter who forms one of the dramatis persona?. 

In the latter years of his life he suffered from 
paralysis. A complimentary benefit was given 
to him at the National Theatre in Leonard street. 

at which W. E. Burton made his first appearance 
in New York. It produced a substantial result, a 
gift as acceptable as well deserved, his pecuniary 
resources being meagre. 

He died on the 9 th of December, 1842. " The 
Old Oaken Bucket" is by far the best of his nu- 
merous lyrics. It will hold its place among the 
choice songs of the country. 


The season of flowers is fled, 

The pride of the garden decayed, 

The sweets of the meadow are dead, 
And the blushing parterre disarrayed. 

The blossom-decked garb of sweet May, 

Enamell'd with hues of delight, 
Is exchanged for a mantle less gay, 

And spangled with colours less bright. 

For sober Pomona has won 

The frolicsome Flora's domainB, 
And the work the gay goddess begun, 

The height of maturity gains. 

But though less delightful to view, 
The charms of ripe autumn appear, 

Than spring's richly varied hue, 
That infantile age of the year: 

Yet now, and now only, we prove 

The uses by nature designed; 
The seasons were sanctioned to move, 

To please less than profit mankind. 

Regret the lost beauties of May, 

But the fruits of those beauties enjoy; 

The blushes that dawn with the day, 
Noon's splendour will ever destroy. 

How pleasing, how lovely appears 
Sweet infancy, sportive and gay ; 

Its prattle, its smiles, and its tears, 
Like spring, or the dawning of day! 

But manhood's the season designed 
For wisdom, for works, and for use ; 

To ripen the fruits of the mind, 

Which the seeds sown in childhood produce. 

Then infancy's pleasures regret, 

But the fruits of those pleasures enjoy ; 

Does spring autumn's bounty beget ? 
So the Man is begun in the Boy. 


The pride of the valley is lovely young Ellen, 
Who dwells in a cottage enshrined by a thicket, 

Sweet peace and content are the wealth of her 
And Truth is the porter that waits at the wicket. 

The zephyr thnt lingers on violet-down pinion, 
With Spring's blushing honors delighted to dally, 

Ne'er breathed on a blossom in Flora's dominion, 
So lovely as Ellen, the pride of the valley. 

She's true to her Willie, and kind to her mother, 
Nor riches nor honors can tempt her from duty ; 

Content with her station, she sighs for no other, 
Though fortunes and titles have knelt to her 

To me her affections and promise are plighted, 
Our ages are equal, our tempers will tally; 

moment of rapture, that sees me united 

To lovely young Ellen, the pride of the valley. 




How dear to this heart are the scenes of my child- 
When fond recollection presents them to view ; 
The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wild 
And every loved spot which my infancy knew ; 
The wide spreading pond, and the mill which stood 
by it, 
The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell ; 
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, 

And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well. 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well. 

That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure ; 

For often, at noon, when returned from the field, 
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, 

The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. 
How ardent I seized it with hands that were glow- 

And quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell ; 
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, 

And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well ; 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 
The moss-covered bucket arose from the well. 

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, 

As, pois'd on the curb, it inclined to my lips! 
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave 

Though fill'd with the nectar that Jupiter sips. 
And now far removed from the loved situation, 

The tear of regret will intrusively swell, 
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, 

And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well; 
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, 
The moss-covered bucket which in his well. 

Ttie Rev. Joitx Pierpoxt was bora at Litchfield, 
Connecticut, April 6, 1785. He is a descendant 
of the Rev. James Pierpont, the second minister 
of New Haven and a founder of Yale College. 
His early years were watched over with great 
care by an excellent mother, to whom he warmly 
expressed his gratitude in his subsequent poems. 
Entering Yale College he completed his course in 
1804, and passed the succeeding four years as a 
private tutor in the family of Col. William Allston 
of South Carolina. On his return home he stu- 
died law in the celebrated school of his native 
town, and was admitted to practice in 1812. 
About the same period, being called upon to ad- 
dress the Washington Benevolent Society, New- 
buryport, where he had removed, he delivered 
the poem entitled " The Portrait," which he after- 
wards published, and which is included in the 
collection of his " Patriotic and Political Pieces." 
He soon, in consequence of impaired health, and 
the unsettled state of affairs produced by the war, 
relinquished his profession and became a rner- 


chant, conducting his business at Boston and af- 
terwards at Baltimore. He was unsuccessful, and 
after a few years retired. In 1816 he published 

the Airs of Palestine, at Baltimore. It was well 
received, and was twice reprinted in the course 
of the following year at Boston. 

In 1819 Mr. Pierpont was ordained minister of 
the Hollis Street Unitarian church in Boston. 
He passed a portion of the years 1835-6 in Eu- 
rope, and in 1840 published a clfoice edition of 
his poems.* 

In 1851, on occasion of the centennial celebra- 
tion at Litchfield, he delivered a poem of consi- 
derable length, with the mixture of pleasantry and 
sentiment called for in such recitations, and which 
contains, among other things, a humorous sketch 
of the Yankee character. 

Besides his poems Mr. Pierpont has published 
several discourses. 

Mr. Pierpont is erect and vigorous in appear- 
ance, with the healthy ruddiness in complexion 
of a youth. His style of speaking is energetic- 

The chief poetical performances of Mr. Pierpont 
have been called forth for special occasions. Even 
his more matured poem, the Airs of Palestine, 
which first gave him reputation, was written for 
recitation at a charitable concert. Its design is 
to exhibit the associations of music combined with 
local scenery and national character in different 
countries of the world, the main theme being the 
sacred annals of Judea. It would bear as well 
the title The Power of Music. It is a succession 
of pleasing imagery, varied in theme and harmo- 
nious in numbers. 

Most of the other poems of Pierpont are odes 
on occasional topics of religious, patriotic, or phi- 
lanthropic celebrations. They are forcible and 
elevated, and have deservedly given the author a 
high reputation for this speciality. 


Here let us paus^- : — the openir g prospect view: — 
How fresh this mountain air ! — how soft the blue, 
That throws its mantle o'er the lengthening scene! 
Those waviig groves, — those vales of livii ggreen, — 
Those yellow fields, — that lake's cerulean face, 
That meets, with curlii g smiles, the cool embrace 
Of roaring torrents, lulled by her to lest; — 
That white cloud, melting on the mountain's breast: 
How the wide landscape laughs upon the sky I 
How rich the light that gives it to the e3 - e! 

Where lies our path ? — though many a vista call, 
We may admire, but cannot tread them all. 
Where lies our path ? — a poet, and inquire 
What hills, what vales, what streams become the 

See, there Parnassus lifts his head of snow; 
See at his foot the cool Cephissus flow ; 
There Ossa rises; there Olympus towers; 
Between them, Tempe breathes in beds of flowers, 
For ever verdant ; and there Peneus glides 
Through laurels whispering on his shady sides. 
Your theme is llusic: — Yonder rolls the wave, 
Where dolphins snatched Arion from his grave, 
Enchanted by his lyre: — Cithteron's shade 
Is yonder seen, where first Amphion played 
Those potent airs, that, from the yielding earth, 
Charmed stones around him, and gave cities birth. 
And fast by Hsemus, Thraeian Hebrus creeps 
O'er golden sands, and still for Orpheus weeps, 
Whose gory head, borne by the stream along, 
Was still melodious, and expired in song. 

* Airs of Palestine and other Poems, by John Pierpont 
Boston. Monroe & Co. 



There Nereids sing, and Triton winds his shell; 
There be thy path, — for there the Muses dwell. 

No, no — a lonelier, lovelier patli be mine: 
Greece and her charms I leave, for Palestine. 
There, purer streams through happier valleys flow, 
And sweeter flowers oa holier mountains blow. 
I love to breathe where Gilead sheds her balm ; 
I love to walk on Jordan's banks of palm ; 
I love to wet my foot in Hermon's dews ; 
I love the promptings of Isaiah's muse ; 
In Carmel's holy grots I'll court repose, 
And deck my mossy couch with Sharon's deathless 


On Arno's bosom, as he calmly flows, 
And his cool arms round Vallombrosa throws, 
Rolling his crystal tide through classic vales, 
Alone, — at night, — the Italian boatman sails. 
High o'er Moat' Alto walks, in maiden pride, 
Night's queen ; — he sees her image on that tide, 
Now, ride the wave that curls its infant crest 
Around his prow, then rippling sinks to rest; 
Now, glittering dance around his eddying oar, 
Whose every sweep is echoed from the shore ; 
Now, far before him, on a liquid bed 
Of waveless water, rest her radiant head. 
How mild the empire of that virgin queen! 
How dark the mountain's shade ! how still the scene ! 
Hushed by her silver sceptre, zephyrs sleep 
On dewy leaves, that overhang the deep. 
Nor dare to whisper through the boughs, nor stir 
The valley's willow, nor the mountain's fir, 
Nor make the pale and breathless aspen quiver, 
Nor brush, with ruffling wing, that glassy river. 

Hark! — 'tis a convent's bell : — its midnight chime; 
For music measures even the march of Time: — 
O'er bending trees, that fringe the distant shore, 
Gray turrets rise: — the eye can catch no more. 
The boatman, listening to the tolling bell, 
Suspends his oar : — a low and solemn swell, 
From the deep shade, that round the cloister lies, 
Rolls through the air, and on the water dies. 
What melting song wakes the cold ear of Night? 
A funeral dirge, that pale nuns, robed in white, 
Chant round a sister's dark and narrow bed, 
To charm the parting spirit of the dead. 
Triumphant is the 6pell ! with raptured ear, 
That unchanged spirit hovering lingers near; — 
Why should she mount ? why pant for brighter bliss, 
A lovelier scene, a sweeter song, than this ! 


Written for the Dedication of the new Congregational Church 
in Plifmautli, tnu/i upon, the- Ground occupied by tlie ear- 
liest Congregational Church in America. 

The winds and waves were roaring ; 

The Pilgrims met for prayer ; 
And here, their God adoring, 

They stood, in open air. 
When breaking day they greeted, 

And when its close was calm, 
The leafless woods repeated 

The music of their psalm. 
Not thus, O God, to praise thee, 

Do we, their children, throng; 
The temple's arch we raise thee 

Gives back our choral song. 
Yet, on the winds, that bore thee 

Their worship and their prayers, 
May ours come up before thee 

From hearts as true as theirs! 

What have we, Lord, to bind us 
To this, the Pilgrims' shore ! — 

Their hill of graves behind us, 

Their watery way before, 
The wintry surge, that dashes 

Against the rocks they trod, 
Their memory, and their ashes, — 

Be thou their guard, God ! 

We would not, Holy Father, 

Forsake this hallowed spot, 
Till on that shore we gather 

Where graves and griefs are not; 
The shore where true devotion 

Shall rear no pillared shrine, 
And see no other ocean 

Than that of love divine. 


Written for the Second Centennial Celebration of tlie Settle- 
ment of Boston, September 17th, 1S30. 

Break forth in song, ye trees, 
As, through your tops, the breeze 

.Sweeps from the sea ! 
For, on its rushing wings, 
To your cool shades and springs, 
That breeze a people brings, 

Exile ! though free. 

Te sister hills, lay down 
Of ancient oaks your crown, 

In homage due ; — 
These are the great of earth, 
Great, not by kingly birth, 
Great in their well proved worth, 

Firm hearts and true. 

These are the living lights, 

That from your bold, green heights, 

Shall shine afar, 
Till they who name the name 
Of Freedom, toward the flame 
Come, as the Magi came 

Toward Bethlehem's star. 

Gone are those great and good. 
Who here, in peril, stood 

And raised their hymn. 
Peace to the reverend dead! 
The light, that on their head 
Two hundred years have shed, 

Shall ne'er grow dim. 

Ye temples, that to God 
Rise where our fathers trod, 

Guard well your trust, — ■ 
The faith, that dared the sea, 
The truth, that made them free, 
Their cherished purity, 

Their garnered dust. 

Thou high and holy One, 
Whose care for sire and son 

All nature fills, 
While day shall break and close, 
While night her crescent shows, 
0, let thy light repose 

On these our hills. 

M. M. NOAH. 
Mohdecai Manuel Noait, whose popular repu- 
tation, as a newspaper writer of ease and plea- 
santry, was extended through the greater part of 
a long life, was born in Philadelphia July 19, 
1785. He was earl}' apprenticed to a mechanical 
business, which he soon left, and engaged in the 
study of the law, mingling in politics and litera- 
ture. He removed to Charleston, S. C, where 
he was busily engaged in polities of the day. 



In 1813, under Madison, he was appointed 
U. S. consul to Morocco. The vessel in which 
he sailed from Charleston was taken by a British 
frigate, and he was carried to England and de- 
tained several weeks a prisoner, when he was al- 
lowed to proceed to his destination. After his 
return to America in 1819, he published a vo- 
lume of his Travels in England, France, Spain, 
and the Barbary States, from 1813 to 1815. 
He had now established himself at New York, 
where he edited the National Advocate, a demo- 
cratic journal. He was elected sheriff of the 
city and county. In a squib of the time he was 
taunted with his religion. " Pity," said his op- 
ponents, " that Christians are to be hereafter 
hung by a Jew." " Pretty Christians," replied 
the Major, as he was generally called, " to require 
hanging at all." 

The National Advocate was discontinued in 
1826, and Noah then commenced the publication 
of the New York Enquirer, which he conducted 
for a while till it was annexed to the Morn- 
ing Courier, a union which gave rise to the pre- 
sent large commercial journal, Tlie Courier and 
Enquirer. In 1834, in connexion with Thomas 
Gill, he established a popular daily newspaper, The 
Evening Star, which attained considerable repu- 
tation from the ready pen of Noah, who was 
considered the best newspaper paragraphist of his 
day. Hh style in these effusions well represented 
his character: facile, fluent, of a humorous turn, 
pleasing in expression, though sometimes ungram- 
matical, with a cheerful vein of moralizing, and 
a knowledge of the world. The Star was united 
to the Times, becoming the Times and Star, and 
was finally merged in the Commercial Advertiser 
in 1840. After this, in July, 1842, Noah origin- 
ated the Union, a daily paper, illustrating a new 
phase of the Major's political life; and like all 
his other undertakings of the kind, enlivened by 
the editor's peculiar pleasantry. It was con- 
tinued in his hands through the year, after 
which Noah, in conjunction with Messrs. Deans 
and Howard, established a Sunday newspaper, 
The Times and Messenger, for which he wrote 
weekly till within a few days of his death, by 
an attack of apoplexy, March 22, 1851. 

There was no man better known in his day in 
New York than Major Noah. His easy manners, 
fund of anecdote, fondness for biographical and 
historical memoirs, acquaintance witli the public 
characters, political and social, of half a century, 
with whom his newspaper undertakings had 
brought him in contact ; his sympathy with the 
amusements of the town of all descriptions, 
actors, singers, and every class of performers, all 
of which were severally promoted by his bene- 
volent disposition, made his company much 
sought and appreciated. 

In 1845 Noah delivered A Discourse on the 
Restoration of the Jews, which was published — ■ 
a fanciful speculation. 

Some time before his death he published a 
little volume of his newspaper essays, entitled 
Gleanings from a Gathered Harvest; but they 
are of his more quiet and grave moralizing*, and 
hardly indicate the shrewdness and satiric 
mirth which pointed his paragraphs against the 
follies of the times. In his way, too, the kindly 
Major had been something of a dramatist. He 


has related the story of his accomplishments in 
this line in so characteristic a manner, in a letter 
to Dunlap, published in his "History of the 
American Theatre," that we may quote it at 
once as part of our history, and as a specimen of 
the style of the writer. 


New York, July 11, 1832. 
Dear Srr., 

I am happy to hear that your work on the Ame- 
rican Drama is in press, and trust that you may 
realize from it that harvest of fame and money to 
which your untiring industry and diversified labors 
give you an eminent claim. You desire me to fur- 
nish you a list of my dramatic productions ; it will, 
my dear sir, constitute a sorry link in the cliain of 
American writers — my plays have all been ad cap- 
tandum : a kind of amateur performance, with no 
claim to the character of a settled, regular, or domi- 
ciliated writer for the green-room— a sort of volun- 
teer supernumerary — a dramatic writer by " parti- 
cular desire, and for this night only," as they say in 
the bills of the play; my "line." as you well know, 
has been in the more rugged paths of politics, a line 
in which there is more fact than poetry, more feel- 
ing than fiction ; in wliich, to be sure, there are 
"exits and entrances" — where the "prompter's 
whistle" is constantly heard in the voice of the 
people ; but which, in our popular government, 
almost disqualifies us for the more soft and agreeable 
translation of the lofty conceptions of tragedy, the 
pure diction of genteel comedy, or the wit, gaiety, 
and humor of broad farce. 

I had an early hankering for the national drama, 
a kind of juvenile patriotism, which burst forth, for 
the fir?t time, in a few sorry doggrels in the form of 
a prologue to a play, which a Thespian company, 
of which I was a member, produced in the South 
Street Theatre — the old American theatre in Phila- 
delphia. The idea was probably suggested by the 
sign of the Federal Convention at the tavern oppo- 
site the theatre. You, no doubt, remember the 
picture and the motto: nn excellent piece of paint- 
ing of the kind, representing a group of venerable 



personages engaged in public discussions, with the 
following distich: 

These thirty-eight great men have signed a powerful deed, 
That better times to us shall very soon succeed. 

The sign must have been painted soon after the 
adoption of the federal constitution, a. id I remem- 
ber to have stood " many a time and oft," gazing, 
when a boy, at the assembled patriots, particularly 
the venerable head and spectacles of Dr. Franklin, 
always in conspicuous relief. In our Thespian 
corps, the honor of cutting the plays, substituting 
new passages, easting parts, and writing couplets at 
the exits, was divided between myself and a fellow 
of infinite wit and humor, by the name of Helm- 
bold ; who subsequently became the editor of a 
scandalous little paper, called the Tickler : he was 
a rare rascal, perpetrate i all kinds of calumnies, was 
constantly mulcted in fines, sometimes imprisoned, 
was full of faults, which were forgotteu in his con- 
versational qualities a id dry sallies of genuine wit, 
particularly his Dutdi stories. After years of sin- 
gular vicissitudes, Helmbold joined the army as a 
common soldier, fought bravely during the late war, 
obtained a commission, and died. Our little com- 
pany so m dwindled away; the expenses were too 
heavy for our packets; our writings aid perform- 
ances were sufficiently wretched, but as the audience 
was admitted without cost, they were too polite to 
express any disapprobation, we recorded all our 
doings in a little weekly piper, published, 1 believe, 
by Jenny Riddle, at the corner of Chestnut an 1 
Third street, opposite the tavern kept by that sturdy 
old le n.icrat, Israel Israel. 

From a bry, I was a regular attendant of the 
Chestnut Street Theatre, during the manage of 
vVigaell and Reinagle, and male great e. forts to 
compass the purchase of a season ticket, which I 
obtained generally of the treasurer, George Davis, 
for $13. Our habits through life are frequently 
governed and directed by our early steps. I seldo n 
missed a night; aid always retire! to bed, after 
witnessing a good piny, gratifie da. id improved: and 
thus, probably, escaped the hau its of taverns, a. id 
the pursuits of deprave 1 pleasures, which too fre- 
quently allure and destroy our young men ; hence I 
was always the firm friend of the drama, and had 
an undoubted right to oppose my example through 
life to the horror ail hostility expressed by sec- 
tarians to play and play-houses generally. Independ- 
ent of several of your pi ays which had obtained 
possession of the stage, and were duly incorporated 
in the legitimate drama, the first call to support the 
productio is of a fellow townsman, was, I think, 
Barker's opera of the " Indian Princess." Charles 
Ingersoll had previously written a trage ly, a very 
able production for a very you ig man, which was 
supported by all the "good society;" but Barker 
who was " one of us," on amiable and intelligent 
young fellow, who owed nothing to here litary 
rank, though his father was a Whig, and a soldier 
of the Revolution, was in reality a fi le spirited poet, 
a patriotic ode writer, and finally a gallant soldier 
of the late war. The managers g ive Barker an ex- 
cellent chance with all his plays, and he had merit 
and popularity to give them in return full houses. 

About this time, I ventured to attempt a little 
melo-drama, under the title of The Fortress of Sor- 
rento, which, not having money enough to pay for 
printing, nor sufficient influence to have acted, I 
thrust the manuscript in my pocket, and having oc- 
casion to visit New York, I called in at David Long- 
worth's Dramatic Repository one day, spoke of the 
little piece, and struck a bargain with him, by giv- 
ing him the manuscript in return for a copy of every 

play be had published, which at once furnished me 
with a tolerably large dramatic collection. I believe 
the play never was performed, and I was almost 
ashamed to own it; but it was my first regular 
attempt at dramatic com; isition. 

In the year 1812, while in Charleston, S. C, Mr. 
Young requested me to write a piece for his wife's 
benefit. You remember her, no doubt ; remarkable 
as she was for her personal beauty and amiable 
deportment, it would have been very ungallant to 
have refused, particularly as he requested that it 
should be a " breeches part," to use a green-room 
term, though she was equally attractive in every 
character. Poor Mrs. Young! she died last year in 
Philadelphia. When she first arrived in New York, 
from Loudon, it was difficult to conceive a more per- 
fect beauty; her complexion was of dazzling white- 
ness, her golden hair and ruddy complexion, figure 
somewhat embonpoint, and graceful carriage, made 
her a great favorite. I soon produced the little 
piece, which was called Paul and Alexis, or the 
Orphans of the Rhine. I wus, at that period, a very 
active politician, and my political opponents did me 
the honor to go to the theatre the night it was per- 
formed, for the purpose of hissing it, which was not 
attempted until the curtain fell, and the piece was 
successful. After three years' absence in Europe 
and Africa, I saw the same piece performed at the 
Park under the title of The Wandering Boys, which 
even now holds possession of the stage. It seems 
Mr. the manuscript to Loudon, where the 
title was changed, and the bantling cut up, altered, 
and considerably improve!. 

About this time, John Miller, the American book- 
seller in London, paid us a visit. Among the pas- 
sengers in the same ship was a fine English girl of 
great talent and promise, Miss Leesugg, afterwards 
Mrs. Haekett. She was engage 1 at the Park as a 
singer, and Phillips, who was here about the same 
period, fulfilling a most successful engagement, was 
decided and unqualified in his admiration of her 
talent. Every one took an interest in her success: 
she was gay, kind-hearted, and popular, always in 
excellent spirits, and always perfect. Anxious for 
her success, I venture 1 to write a play for her bene- 
fit, and in three days finished the patriotic piece of 
She would be a Soldier, or the Battle of Chippewa, 
which, I was happy to find, produced her an excel- 
lent house. Mrs. Haekett retired from the stage 
after her marriage, and lost six or seven years of 
profitable and unrivalled engagement. 

"After this play, I became in a manner domi- 
ciliated in the green-room. My friends. Price and 
Simpson, who had always been exceedingly kind 
and liberal, allowed me to stray about the premises 
like one of the family, and always anxious for their 
success, I ventured upon another attempt for a holy- 
day occasion, and produced Marion, or the Hero of 
Lake George. It was played on the 25th of Novem- 
ber — Evacuation day, and I bustled about among 
my military friends, to raise a party in support of a 
military play, and what with generals, staff-officers, 
rank and file, the Park Theatre was so crammed, 
that not a word of the play was heard, which was a 
very fortunate affair for the author. The managers 
presented me with a pair of handsome silver 
pitchers, which I still retain as a memento of their 
good will and friendly consideration. You must 
bear in mind that while I was thus employed in 
occasional attempts at play-writing, I was engaged 
in editing a daily journal, and in all the fierce con- 
tests of political strife ; I had, therefore, but little 
time to devote to all that study and reflection so 
essential to the success of dramatic composition. 

My next piece, I believe, was written for the 


benefit of a relative and friend, who wanted some- 
thing to bring a house ; and as the struggle for 
liberty in Greece was at that period the prevailing 
excitement, I finished the melo-drama of The Grecian 
Captive, which was brought out with all the advan- 
tages of good scenery and music. As a " good 
house" was of more consequence to the actor than 
fame to the author, it was resolved that the hero of 
the piece should make his appearance on an ele- 
phant, and the heroine on a camel, which were pro- 
cured from a neighboring menagerie, and the lout 
ensemble was sufficiently imposing, only it happened 
that the huge elephant, in shaking his skin, so 
rocked the castle on his back, that the Grecian 
general nearly lost his balance, and was in imminent 
danger of coming down from his " high estate," to 
the infi ite merriment of the audience. On this 
occasion, to use a. lother significant phrase, a "gag" 
was hit upon of a new character altogether. The 
play was printed, and each auditor was presented 
with a copy gratis, as he entered the house. Figure 
to yourself a thousand people in a theatre, each 
witlpa book of the play in hand — imagine the turn- 
ing over a thousand leaves simultaneously, the buzz 
and fluttering it produced, and you will readily be- 
lieve that the actors entiiely forgot their parts, and 
even the equanimity of the elephant and camel were 
essentially disturbed. 

My last appearance ns a dramatic writer was in 
another national piece, called The Siege of Tripoli, 
which the managers persuaded me to t bring out for 
my own benefit, being my first attempt to derive 
any profit from dramatic efforts. The piece was 
elegantly got up — the house crowded with beauty 
and fashion — everything went off in the happiest 
manner; when a short time after the audience had 
retired, the Park Theatre was discovered to be on 
fire, and in a short time was a heap of ruins. This 
conflagration burnt out all my dramatic fire and 
energy, since which I have been, as you well know, 
peaceably employed in settling the affairs of the 
nation, and mildly engaged in the political differ- 
ences and disagreements which are so fruitful in our 
great state.* 

I still, however, retain a warm interest for the 
success of the drama, and all who are entitled to 
success engageil in sustaining it, and to none greater 
than to yourself, who has done more, in actual 
labor and successful efforts, than any man in Ame- 
rica, That you may realize all you have promised 
yourself, and all that you are richly entitled to, is 
the sincere wish of 

Dear sir, 

Your friend and servant, 

M M. Noah. 

Wsl Dun-lap, Esq, 


Dr.., the president of this institution, 
•which is situated at Athens, Georgia, in A Dis- 
course delivered he/ore the Historical Society of 
the state, has thus traced the progress of educa- 
tion in that region. 

" The first constitution of Georgia was adopted 
the 5th of February, 1777, only a few months 
after the Declaration of Independence. The 54th 
section of this constitution declares, ' Schools 
shall be erected in each county, and supported at 
the general expense of the state.' This is an 

* The author does not add, which was the fact that the pro- 
ceeds of this fata] benefit evening which he received, amount- 
ing to the considerable Earn of nearly two thousand dollars, 
were the next day given to the actors, and others, who had 
suffered by the fire. 

important record in the history of our education. 
On the 31st of July, 1783, the Legislature appro- 
priated 1000 acres of land to each count} - for the 
support of free schools. In 1784, a few months 
after the ratification of the treaty of peace, by 
wliich our national independence was acknow- 
ledged, the legislature, again in session at Savan- 
nah, passed an act, appropriating 40,000 acres of 
land for the endowment of a college or university. 
This act commences with the remarkable pre- 
amble: ' Whereas, the encouragement of religion 
and learning is an object of great importance to 
any community, and must tend to the prosperity 
and advantage of the same.' 

"In 1785, the charter of the university was 
granted, the preamble to which would do honor 
to any legislature, and will stand a monument to 
the wisdom and patriotism of those who framed, 
and of those who adopted it. 

" 'As it is the distinguishing happiness of free 
governments that civil order should be the result 
of choice and not necessity, and the common 
wishes of the people become the laws of the land, 
their public prosperity and even existence very 
much depends upon suitably forming the minds 
and moral, of their citizens. "When the minds of 
the people in general are viciously disposed and 
unprincipled, and their conduct disorderly, a free 
government will be attended with greater confu- 
sion*, and evils more horrid than the wild uncul- 
tivated state of nature. It can only be happy 
where the public principles and opinions are pro- 
perly directed and their manners regulated. 

"'This is an influence beyond the stretch of 
laws and punishments, and can be claimed only 
by religion and education. It should, therefore, 
be among the first objects of those who wish well 
tj the national prosperity, to encourage and sup- 
port the principles of religion and morality; and 
early to place the youth under the forming hand 
of society, that, by instruction, they may be 
moulded to the love cf virtue and good order. 
Sending them abroad to other countries for edu- 
cation will not answer the purposes, is too humi- 
liating an acknowledgment of the ignorance or 
inferiority of our own, and will always be the 
cause of so great foreign attachments that, upon 
principles of policy, it is inadmissible.' 

"In 1702, an act was passed appropriating one 
thousand pounds for the endowment of an Aca- 
demy in each county. 

"In 1798, a third constitution was adopted. 
The 13th section of the 4th article declares: ' The 
arts and sciences shall be patronized in one or 
more seminaries of learning.' 

" In 1817, two hundred and fifty thousand dol- 
lars were appropriated to the support of poor 
schools. In 1818, every 10th and 100th lot of 
land in seven new counties were appropriated to 
the cause of education, and in 1821, two hundred 
and lift}' thousand dollars were set apart for the 
support of county academies.''* 

The selection of the site for the university was 
peculiar. It was located on a tract of ground, on 
what was then the remote border of population 
on the north-western boundary of the territory, 
in reference to the future growth of the state 

* A Discourse delivered before the Georgia Historical So- 
ciety, on the occasion of its Si-Uh Anniversary, Feb. 12, 1S45. 



rather than present convenience. In addition to 
the forty thousand acres originally granted by the 
legislature for the support of the university, Go- 
vernor Milledge generously presented to the insti- 
tution, at an expense of four thousand dollars, a 
tract of land of seven hundred acres, better adapted 
for the site, on which Franklin College was esta- 
blished in 1801. It was some time before these 
endowments of land became available for the sup- 
port of the institution. They have now provided 
an ample fund. In 1816 the lands of the original 
grant were sold, and one hundred thousand dollars 
were invested in bank stock, guaranteed by the 
state to yield an annual interest of eight per cent. 
From the lands purchased by Governor Milledge, 
the college has received, by the sale of lots at 
various times, some thirty thousand dollars, twenty 
thousand of which are invested as a permanent 

At the outset, the institution was embarrassed 
for want of ready pecuniary means; but its diffi- 
culties were met with spirit by the leading men 
of the state, among whom Dr. Church enumerates 
in his Discourse, Baldwin, Jackson, Milledge, 
Early, the Houstons, the Habershams, Clay, Few, 
Brownson, Taliaferro, Stephens, Walton, Jones, 
and Gov. Jackson. 

The line of Presidents has been — the Rev. Dr. 
Josiah Meigs, from 1801 to 1811 ; the Rev. Dr. 
John Brown, from 1811 to 181G; the Rev. Dr. 
Robert Finlev, who died after a year's incum- 
bency, in 1817; the Rev. Dr. Moses Waddel, 
from 1819 to 1829; and the Rev. Dr. Alonzo 
Church, from that time. Dr. Meigs had been 
Professor of Natural Philosophy and Astronomy 
in Yale ; Dr. Brown had held the chair of Mural 
Philosophy in Columbia College, South Carolina; 
Dr. Waddel, one of the most popular teachers of 
the South, was a native of North Carolina. He 
passed forty-five years as a teacher, dying in 
1810 at the age of seventy. 

Previously to the sale of the lands in 1816, the 
college was closed for three years, in consequence 
of the war and the want of funds. Its whole 
number of graduates to the close of 1852 appears 
by the catalogue to be six hundred and ninety-nine. 

The college buildings have cost some eighty 
thousand dollars. The library consists of over 
twelve thousand volumes, and there is an excel- 
lent philosophical, chemical, and astronomical 
apparatus, with a valuable cabinet of minerals, 
and a neat botanic garden. 

The college is under the charge of twenty- 
eight trustees, elected at first by the legislature, 
but all vacancies are filled by the trustees. The 
Senate of the State and Board of Trustees consti- 
tute the Senatus Academicus of the state, and all 
institutions of learning receiving funds from the 
state must report to the Senatus, of which the 
Governor of the State is president, at each meet- 
ing of the Legislature. 

Of the other college institutions in the state, 
the Presbyterian institution of Oglethorpe Uni- 
versity, situated near Milledgeville, was founded I 
in 183T. It grew out of a manual labor school \ 
under the direction of the Rev. Dr. C. P. Beman, | 
who became the first president of the college in [ 
1838. On his retirement in 1S40, he was suc- 
ceeded by the present incumbent, the Rev. Dr. : 
S. K. Talmage. The number of students by the ; 

catalogue of 1853-4 is sixty-four. Its alumni, 
from 1838 to 1853, have been one hundred and 
thirty-eight, The president is Professor of An- 
cient Languages and Belles Lettres. 

Mercer University is a Baptist institution, 
situated at Penfield ; and Emory College, at Ox- 
ford, is attached to the Methodist Church. The 
former has a theological course of instruction. 
It dates from 1838. Emory College was founded 
in 1837. Oxford, the town in which it is located, 
is a pleasant rural village with a permanent 
population of some six hundred persons, who have 
chosen that residence almost exclusively with 
reference to the college. The present head of 
Mercer is Dr. N. M. Crawford ; of Emory, the 
Rev. Dr. P. S. Pierce. 

In August 7, 1851, the semi-centennial anni- 
versary of Franklin College was celebrated, and 
an address delivered in the college chapel at 
Athens before the Society of Alumni by the 
Hon. George R. Gilmer, who took for his subject 
" The Literary Progress of Georgia." In this 
discourse, which was printed at the time, will be 
found a genial picturesque narrative, with nume- 
rous anecdotes of the early days of Georgia, 
sketches of the character of her citizens and of 
their means of education, with the stray Ichabod 
Cranes who preceded the foundation of her aca- 
demies and colleges, which have since become 
the distinguished ornaments of the state. 

In 1782 an act of assembly in Maryland was 
passed for founding a seminary on the Eastern 
shore. The charter of incorporation required that 
a sum of money should be raised by contribution 
equal to five hundred pounds for each county in 
that region. Ten thousand pounds were thus 
collected in five months. The college went into 
operation at Chestertown, and took the name of 
Washington, who was one of the contributors to 
its funds. Its first annual Commencement was 
held May 16, 1783. Washington visited the col- 
lege the next year. At the same time, in 1784, 
an act was pa-ssed for founding a college on the 
western shore, and constituting the same, together 
with Washington College, one institution. This 
was incorporated by the name of the Visitors and 
Governors of St. John's College, and a grant of 
seventeen hundred pounds " annually and for 
ever," was made by the legislature. There was 
also a subscription of ten thousand pounds, of 
which two thousand were subscribed by the Rec- 
tor and Visitors of the Annapolis school. A board 
was organized, and its first meeting held in 1786. 
The joint institution was opened at Annapolis in 
1789, and Dr. John McDowell was chosen as Pro- 
fessor of Mathematics, and afterwards as Principal. 
In 1792 six professors and teachers were constantly 
employed in the college, which was well attended, 
and sent forth numbers of the distinguished men of 
the state. In 1805, the legislature, by an illiberal 
acl of economy, withdrew the annual fund solemnly 
granted at the founding of the college. This was for 
the time a virtual breaking up of the institution. 
Efforts were made for the restoration of the grant. 
In 1811 the legislature appropriated one thousand 
dollars, and in 1821 granted a lottery the proceeds 
of which were twenty thousand dollars. In 1832 
two thousand dollars per annum were secured to 



the college by the legislature. In the meantime 
the succession of Principals had included, after 
Dr. McDowell, the Rev. Drs. Bethel Judd, Henry 
Lyon Davis, and "William Rafferty. In 1831, 
about the time of the revival of the college affairs, 
the Rev. Dr. Hector Humphreys, the present in- 
cumbent, was elected Principal. The classes 
increased, new accommodation was required, and 
in 1835 a new college building was erected ; an 
historical address being delivered at the csremony 
of laying the corner-stone by John Johnson, one 
of the Visitors and Governors, who thus alluded 
to some of the advantages and associations of the 
site : — " If education is to be fostered in Mary- 

St. John's College, Maryland. 

land as its importance demands, no location more 
favorable for its cultivation could be selected than 
this. The building now existing, and that in the 
course of construction, are seated in a plain of 
great extent and unrivalled beauty. The climate 
of the place is unsurpassed for salubrity, and 
whilst the moral contamination incident to the 
vicinity of a large town is not to be dreaded, the 
presence of the seat of Government is full of ad- 
vantages. Everything conspires to render St. 
John's a favorite of the State. It was built up 
by the purchasers of our freedom whilst the 
storms of the Revolution were yet rocking the 
battlements of the Republic. It has enrolled 
among its alumni some of the brightest ornaments 
of the nation, and continued its usefulness to the 
last, though frowned upon and discouraged by the 
parent which created it. It is endeared by its 
origin; venerable for its age; illustrious for the 
great minds nurtured within its walls, and entitled 
to our gratitude' for yet striving to do good." 

During the administration of Dr. Humphreys 
the prosperity of the college, in the number of 
students, has greatly increased. New depart- 
ments of study have been opened, and new Pro- 
fessorships and college buildings projected. 

C. S. Rafinesque was born, he informs us at the 
outset of his Life of Travels and Researches, at 
Galata, a suburb of Constantinople, in 1784. 
His father was a Levant, merchant from Mar- 
seilles. While an infant he was taken to that 
city by sea, and says that it was owing to this 
early voyage that he was ever after exempt from 
sea-sickness. In his seventh year his father went 
to China, and on his return ran into Philadelphia 
to escape the English cruisers, where he died of 

yellow fever in 1793. Meanwhile the mother, 
terrified at the sans-culottes, removed with her 
children to Leghorn. After passing several years 
in various cities in the north of Italy, he was sent 
to the United States in 1802, with his brother. He 
landed at Philadelphia, visited Bartram and other 
naturalists, his botanical tastes having already de- 
veloped themselves, and travelled a little in Penn- 
sylvania and Delaware. He returned to Leghorn 
with a large stock of specimens in March, 1805, 
and in May of the same year sailed for Sicily, 
where he passed ten years in "residence and 
travels," engaged partly in botany, and partly in 
merchandise, during which he published a work, 
The Analysis of Nature, in the French language. 
In 1815 he sailed for New York, but was ship- 
wrecked on the Long Island coast. ' "I lost," he 
says, "everything, my fortune, my share of the 
cargo, my collections and labors for twenty years 
past, my books, my manuscripts, my drawings, 
even my' clothes. — all that I possessed, except 
some scattered funds, and the insurance ordered 
in England for one third the value of my goods. 
The ship was a total wreck, and finally righted 
and sunk, after throwing up the confined air of 
the hold by an explosion." 

He made his way to New York and presented 
himself to Dr. Mitchill, who introduced him to 
friends, and obtained a place for him as tutor to 
the family of Mr. Livingston on the Hudson. In 
1818 he made a tour to the West, leaving the 
stage at Lancaster "to cross the Alleghanies on 
foot, as every botanist ought." He floated down 
the Ohio in an ark to Louisville, where he re- 
ceived an invitation to become Professor of 
Botany at Transylvania University, Lexington. 
After returning to Philadelphia to close his busi- 
ness affairs he removed to Lexington, and appears 
to have obtained the professorship, and performed 
its duties for some time. He still, however, con- 
tinued his travels, lectured in various places, and 
endeavored to start a magazine and a botanic 
garden, but without success in either case. He 
finally established himself in Philadelphia, where 
he published The Atlantic Journal and Friend 
of Knowledge, a Cyclopedic Journal and Eeview. 
The first number is dated " Spring of 18S2," and 
forms an octavo of thirty-six pages. " This jour- 
nal," says the prospectus, " shall contain every- 
thing calculated to enlighten, instruct, and im- 
prove the mind." But eight numbers appeared. 
In 1836 he published Life of Travels and Re- 
searches, a brief narrative, furnishing little more 
than an itinerary of the places he visited during 
his almost uninterrupted peregrinations. In ad- 
dition to these works he published several volumes 
on botanv. Rafinesque died at Philadelphia, Sep- 
tember 18, 1842. 


Daniel Dp.ake was born at Plainfield, New Jer- 
sey, October 20, 1785 ; was taken while quite 
a youth to Mason count}', Kentucky, and was 
brought up there. When a young man he went 
to Cincinnati, and studied medicine at the Medi- 
cal School of the University of Pennsylvania, at 
Philadelphia, became a practitioner of medicine 
at Cincinnati, and attained high eminence in his 
profession. He was a professor and teacher of 
the medical science for the greater part of his life 



in the schools at Cincinnati, at Philadelphia, at 
Lexington, Kentucky, and at Louisville, Ken- 
tucky, where he was associated with the most 
distinguished men of his profession. Without ex- 
celling in any of the graces of the orator, he was 
a most effective and popular lecturer. An origi- 
nal thinker, zealous, energetic, a lover of truth, 
he delighted in acquiring and communicating 
knowledge. A philanthropist, a puhlic-spirited 
citizen, a man of untiring industry and indomi- 
tahle energy, he spent a long and active life in 
constant efforts to do good. Devoted to the in- 
terests of Cincinnati, he was a zealous and active 
promoter of every measure for the advancement 
of her prosperity, and especially for her moral and 
intellectual improvement. His time, his pen, his 
personal exertions, were at all times at the service 
of his profession, his country, his fellow-creatures. 
In a long life of uncommon industry, marked by 
a spirit and perseverance unattainable by ordinary 
men, the larger portion of his time was given to 
the public, to benevolence, and to science. 

As a writer Dr. Drake is entitled to considera- 
tion in American literature, not from the style 
of his compositions, which had little to recom- 
mend it, but from their useful character and sci- 
entific value. Besides his acknowledged works, 
he was the author of a vast number of pamphlets 
and newspaper essays, written to promote useful 
objects, all marked by great vigor and conciseness 
of style, and singleness of purpose. His Picture 
of Cincinnati, under a modest title, embraced an 
admirable account of the whole Miami country, 
and was one of the first works to attract attention 
to the Ohio valley. His great work on the Dis- 
eases of the Interior Valley of North America 
occupied many years, and was perhaps in contem- 
plation during the greater part of his professional 
life. It is a work of herculean labor, — of exer- 
tions of which few men would be capable. It 
covers the whole ground of the Mississippi and 
its tributaries, and nearly all of North America, 
and professes to treat of the disease* of that vast 
region. It is not compiled from books, nor could 
it be, for the subject is new. This vast mass of 
information is the result of the author's personal 
exploration, and of extensive correspondence with 
scientific men. During the vacations between 
the medical lectures, year after year, Dr. Drake 
travelled, taking one portion of country after an- 
other, and exploring each systematically and care- 
fully, from the Canadian wilds to Florida and 
Texas. Dividing this vast region into districts, 
he gives a detailed topographical description of 
each, marking out distinctly its physical charac- 
teristics and peculiarities; he describes the cli- 
mate, the productions, the cultivation, the habits 
of the people ; he traces the rivers to their sources ; 
points out the mountain ranges, the valleys, the 
plains — everything that could affect the health of 
man, as a local cause, is included in his survey. 
Then he gives the actual diseases which he found 
to be prevalent in each district, the peculiar phase 
of the disease, with the treatment, and other in- 
teresting facts. 

Dr. Daniel Drake died at Cincinnati, November 
5, 1852* 

* The following is a list of books written by him, with tho 
dates of their publication : — 

Benjamin Drake, brother of Dr. Daniel Drake, 
was as marked for his benevolence and public 
spirit as for his literary tastes and abilities. He 
was born in Mason county, Kentucky, November 
28, 1794, and died in Cincinnati, April 1, 1841. 
He was for many years editor of the Cincinnati 
Chronicle, a weekly literary newspaper published 
at Cincinnati, distinguished for its agreeable and 
sprightly articles, and for the courtesy, good taste, 
and common sense, with which it was conducted. 
It was particularly instrumental in promoting the 
prosperity of Cincinnati, by advocating all mea- 
sures of improvement, ami giving a public-spirit- 
ed tone to public sentiment. As long as Drake 
lived this paper was very popular in the city and 
all the surrounding region. He was a most ami- 
able, pure-minded man. His Tales from the 
Queen City are lively and very agreeable sketches 
of Western life, written with some ability, and 
much delicacy and taste. His Life of Tecumseh 
was written with great care from materials col- 
lected in Ohio and Indiana, where that distin- 
gui-hed warrior was well known, and is a valu- 
able contribution to our national history.* 

Charles D. Drake, of St. Louis, a son of Dr. 
Daniel Drake, born in Cincinnati, April 1], 1811, 
is the author of A Treatise on the Law of Suits 
by Attachment in the United States, an octavo 
volume, published in lSSJt.f 

Nionoi.AS Biddi.e belonged to a family which 
furnished its quota to the ^service of the State. 
His father, Charles Biddle, was an active Revo- 
lutionary patriot, and held the post, at the timo 
of his son's birth, of Vice-President of the Penn- 
sylvania Commonwealth, when Franklin was 
president. His uncle, Edward Biddle, was the 
naval commodore who ended his career so gal- 
lantly in the affair of the Randolph. 

The son and nephew, Nicholas, was born at 
Philadelphia, January 8, 1786. He was educated 
at the University of Pennsylvania, where he had 

1810. Notices concerning Cincinnati, pp. 64, 12mo. 

1815. Picture of Cincinnati, pp. 25 i, 12mo. 

1882. Practical Essays on Medical Education and the Medical 
Profession in the United States, pp. lt'4, 12mo. 

1S32. A Practical Treatise on the History, Prevention, and 
Treatment of Epidemic Cholera, designed both for tho 
Profession and the People, pp. 18(1, 12mo. 

1850. A Systematic Treatise, Historical, Etiological, and Prac- 

tical, on the Principal Diseases of the Interior Valley 
of North America, as tliey appear in the Caucasian, 
African, Indian, and Esquimaux varieties of its popu- 
lation, pp. 878. 8vo. 

1851. The second volume of the same, posthumously published, 

pp. 985.. Svo. 
He edited, for many years, very ably and assiduously tho 
Western Journal of Medical Science, published at Cincinnati, 
and contributed largely to its pages. 

* The following is a complete list of bis writings: — 
1S27. Cincinnati in 1826, by B. Drake and E. D. Mansfield, pp. 

Inn, 12mo. 
1S30-33. Between these years he prepared a book on the sub- 
ject of Agriculture, winch was published anonymously. 

It was a compilation, and contained probably 3U0 pages, 

1633. The Life and Adventures of Black Hawk: with Sketches 

of Keokuk, the Sac and Fox Indians, and the lato 

Black Hawk War. pp. 2SS, 12mo. 
1838. Tales and Sketches from the Queen City. pp. 180, 12mo. 

1840. Life of General William Henry Harrison, a small volume, 

of perhaps 250 pages, prepared jointly by B. Drake and 
Charles S. Todd. 

1841. Life of Tecumseh. and his brother the Prophet, with a 

Historical Sketch of the Shawanoe Indians, pp. 235, 
t We are indebted for this notice of Drake and his family to 
Mr. James Hall of Cincinnati. 



completed the round of studies at thirteen ; when 
his youth led to a further course of study at 
Princeton, where, after two years and a half, he 
took his degree with distinguished honor, at a 



remarkably early age, in 1801. He then studied 
law in Philadelphia for three years, when his 
father's friend, General Armstrong, receiving the 
appointment of Minister to France, he embarked 
with him as his secretary, and resided till 1807 
in Europe. They were the days of the Empire. 
At this time the payment of the indemnity for 
injuries to American commerce was going on, 
and young Biddle, at the age of eighteen, managed 
the details of the disbursements with the veterans 
of the French bureau. Leaving the legation he 
travelled through the greater part of the conti- 
nent, and arriving in England, became secretary 
to Monroe, then minister at London. On a visit 
to Cambridge, the story is told of his delighting 
Monroe by the exhibition of his knowledge of 
modern Greek, picked up on his tour to the Me- 
diterranean, when, in company with the English 
scholars, some question arose relating to the pre- 
sent dialect, with which they were unacquainted. 

On his return to America in 1807 he engaged 
in the practice of the law, and filled up a portion 
of his time with literary pursuits. He became as- 
sociated in the editorship of the Port Folio in 
1813, and wrote much for it at different times. 
His papers on the Fine Arts, biographical and 
critical on the old masters, are written with ele- 
gance, and show a discriminating taste. He also 
penned various literary trifles, and wrote' occa- 
sional verses, with the taste of the scholar and 
humorist. Among these light effusions a burlesque 
criticism of the nursery lines on Jack and Gill 
is a very pleasant specimen of his abilities in a 
line which the example of Canning and others has 
given something of a classic flavor. 

When Lewis and Clarke were preparing the 
history of their American Exploration, the death 
of Lewis occurred suddenly, and the materials of 
the work were placed in the hands of Biddle, 
who wrote the narrative, and induced Jefferson 
to pen the preliminary memoir of Lewis. . It was 
simply conducted through the press by Paul Al- 
len, to whom the stipulated compensation was 
generously transferred ; when the political engage- 
ments of Biddle rendered his further attention to 
it impracticable. He was in the State Legislature 
in 1810, advocating a system of popular educa- 
tion with views in advance of his times. It was 
not till 1836 that his ideas were carried out by 
legislative enactment. When the question of the 
renewal of the Charter of the old United States 
Bank was discussed in the session of 1811, he 
spoke in defence of the Institution in a speech 
which was widely circulated at the time, and 
gained the distinguished approval of Chief-justice 

From the Legislature he retired to his studies 
and agriculture, always a favorite pursuit with 
him. When the second war with England broke 
out, he was elected to the State Senate. He was 
now one of seven brothers, all his father's family 

engaged in the service of the country — in the 
navy, the army, and the militia. When the land 
was threatened with invasion, he proposed vigor- 
ous measures for the military defence of the State, 
which were in progress of discussion when peace 
intervened. At the close of the war, he met the 
attacks upon the Constitution of the Hartford 
Convention, by a Report on the questions at 
issue, adopted in the Pennsylvania Legislature. 
In the successive elections of 1818 and 1820, he 
received a large vote for Congress from the demo- 
cratic party, but was defeated. 

In 1819 he became director of the Bank of the 
United States, which was to exercise so unhappy 
an influence over his future career, on the nomi- 
nation of President Monroe ; who about the same 
time assigned to him the work, under a resolution 
of Congress, of collecting the laws and regula- 
tions of foreign countries relative to commerce, 
money, weights, and measures. These he ar- 
ranged in an octavo volume, The Commercial 

In 1823, on the retirement of Langdon Cheves 
from the Presidency of the Bank, he was elected 
his successor. His measures in the conduct of 
the institution belong to the financial and political 
history of the country. The veto of Jackson 
closed the affairs of the bank in 1836. The new 
state institution bearing the same name was im- 
mediately organized with Biddle at its head. He 
held the post for three years, till March, 1839. 
The failure of the bank took place in 1841. The 
loss was tremendous, and Biddle was personally 
visited as the cause of the disaster. He defended 
his course in a series of letters, and kept up his 
interest in public affairs, but death was busy at 
his heart; and not long after, the 26th February, 
1844, at his residence of Andalusia on the Dela- 
ware, he died from a dropsical suffusion of that 
organ, having just completed his fifty-fourth year. 
He had entered upon active life early, and per- 
formed the work of three score and ten. 

In addition to the pursuits already mentioned, 
requiring so large an amount of political force 
and sagacity, Biddle had distinguished himself 
through life by his tastes for literature. He de- 
livered a eulogium on Jefferson before the Philo- 
sophical Society, and an Address on the Duties of 
the American to the Alumni of his college at 
Princeton. As a public speaker, he was polished 
and effective. 

Gaemster Spring was born at Newburyport, 
Massachusetts, February 24, 1785. He was the 
son of the Rev. Dr. Samuel Spring, one of the 
Chaplains of the Revolutionary Army, who ac- 
companied Arnold in his attack on Quebec in 
1775, and carried Burr, when wounded, off the 
field in his arms- 

The son was prepared for college in the 
grammar-school of his native town, and under 
a private tutor in the office of Chief Justice 
Parsons. He entered Yale College, and deli- 
vered the valedictory oration at the conclusion 
of his course in 1805. After studying law in the 
office of Judge Daggett at New Haven, a por- 

* Memoir bv R. T. Conrad in the National Portrait Gallery, 
vol. iv. Ed. 1864. 



tion of bis time being occupied in teaching, 
he passed fifteen months in the island of Ber- 
muda, where he established an English school. 
On bis return he was admitted to the bar in De- 
cember, 1808. He commenced the profession 
with good prospect of success, but was induced 
soon after, by the advice of his father and the 
effect of a sermon of the Rev. Dr. John M. Mason, 
from the text "To the poor the gospel is preached," 
to study theology. After a year passed at Ando- 
ver, he was licensed to preach towards the close 
of 1809/ In June, 1810, he accepted a call to the 
Brick church in the city of New York, where he 
has since remained, unmoved by invitations to 
the presidencies of Hamilton and Dartmouth Col- 
leges, maintaining during nearly half a century a 
position as one of the most popular preachers and 
esteemed divines of the metropolis. He has for 
many years commemorated his long pastorate by 
an anniversary discourse. 

Dr. Spring is the author of several works 
which have been published in uniform st^'le, and 
now extend to eighteen octavo volumes. They 
have grown out of his duties as a pastor, and con- 
sist for the most part of courses of lectures on 
the duties and advantages of the Christian career. 
The edition of his works now in course of pub- 
lication, embraces The Attraction of the Cross, 
designed to illustrate the leading Truths, Obliga- 
tions, and Hopes of Christianity ; The Mercy- 
Sent, Thoughts suggested by the Lord's Prayer ; 
First Things, A Series of Lectures on the Great 
Facts and Moral Lessons first revealed to Man- 
kind ; Tlie Glory of GhrUt, Illustrated in his 
Character and History, including the Last Things 
of His Mediatorial Government ; The Power of 
the Pulpit, or, Plain Thoughts addressed to 
Christian Ministers and those who hear them, on 
the influence of a Preached Gospel; Short Ser- 
mons for the People, being a Series of short Dis- 
courses of a highly practical character ; The Obli- 
gations of the World to the Bible ; Miscellanies, 
including the Author's " Essays on the Distin- 
guishing Traits of Christian Character," " The 
Church in the Wilderness," &.C., &c. The Contrast, 
in press. 

These volumes have passed through several 
editions, and have been in part reprinted and 
translated in Europe, and are held in well deserved 

In 1810 he published Memoirs of the late Han- 
nah L. Murray, a lady of New York, distinguished 
in the vs ide circle of her friends for her benevo- 
lence and intellectual acquirements. She trans- 
lated, with the aid of her sister, the whole of Tas- 
so's Jerusalem Delivered, and many of the odes 
of Anacreon, into English verse, and was the 
author of a poem of five thousand lines in blank 
verse entitled The Restoration of Israel, an ab- 
stract of which, with other unpublished produc- 
tions, is given by her biographer. 

Dr. Spring is an eloquent, energetic preacher; 
his style direct and manly. As a characteristic 
specimen of his manner we give a passage from 
his volume, The Glory of Christ. 


Nor may the fact be overlooked, in the next place, 
tliat he was an impressive and powerful preacher. 
In the legitimate sense of the term, he tx as popular, 

VOL. II. — G 

and interested the multitude. He never preached 
to empty synagogues ; and when he occupied the 
market or the mountain side, they were not hundreds 
that listened to his voice, but thousands. It is re- 
corded of him, that " his fame went throughout all 
Syria ;" and that " there followed him great multi- 
tudes of people from Decapolis, and from Jerusalem, 
and from Judca, and from beyond Jordan." On that 
memorable d:iy when he went from the Mount of 
Olives to Judea, "a great multitude spread their 
garments in the way, and others cut down branches 
from the trees," and all cried " Hosannah to the Son 
of David!" After he uttered the parable of the 
vineyard, the rulers " sought to lay hold of him, but 
feared the people." When lie " returned in the 
power of the Spirit into Galilee, there went out a 
fame of him throughout .'ill the region round about," 
and he " was glorified of all, and great multitudes 
came together to hear him." So much was he, for 
the time, the idol of the people, that the chief priests 
and Pharisees were alarmed at his .popularity, and 
said among themselves, " If we let him then alone, 
all men will believe on him ; behold, the world is 
gone after'him." He was the man of the people, 
and advocated the cause of the people. We are told 
that " the common people heard him gladly." He 
was " no respecter of persons." He was the preacher 
to man, as man. He never passed the door of 
poverty, and was not ashamed to be called "the 
friend of publicans and sinners." His gospel was 
and is the great and only bond of brotherhood ; nor 
was there then, nor is there now, any other univer- 
sal brotherhood, than that which consists in love 
and loyalty to him. He was the only safe reformer 
the world has seen, because he so well understood 
the checks and balances by which the masses are 
governed. His preaching, like his character, bold 
and uncompromising as it was, was also in the high- 
est degree conservative. He taught new truths, and 
he was the great vindicator of those that were old. 
All these things made him a most impressive, pow- 
erful, and attractive preacher. His very instructive- 
ness, prudence, and boldness, interested the people. 
They respected him for his acquaintance with the 
truth, and honored his discretion and fearlessness in 
proclaiming it. This is human nature ; men love to 
be thus instructed ; they come to the house of God 
for that purpose. A vapid and vapory preacher 
may entertain them for the hour; a smooth and 
flattering preacher may amuse them ; a mere denun- 
ciatory preacher may produce a transient excitement ; 
but such is the power of conscience, and such the 
power of God and the wants of men that, though 
their hearts naturally hate God's truth, they will 
crowd the sanctuaries where it is instructively and 
fearlessly, and discreetly urged, while ignorance, 
and error, and a coward preacher, put forth their 
voice to the listless and the few 

Andp.ews Nor.TON T was a descendant of the cele- 
brated John Norton of Ipswich, of the old age of 
Puritan divinity. He was born at Hingham, 
Mass., the last day of the year 1V86. Fond of 
books from a child, at the age of eighteen he had 
completed his course at Harvard, where ho re- 
mained a resident graduate, pursuing a course of 
literary and theological study. In October, 1S09, 
he was appointed tutor in Bowdoin College. At 
the end of the year he returned to Cambridge, 
where in 1811 he was chosen tutor in mathema- 
tics in his college, where he remained till 1812, 
when be engaged in the conduct of The General 
Repository, a periodical work on the side of the 



new liberal school, as it was called, which took 
position at Harvard shortly after the beginning 
of the century. He had previously written for 
the Literary Miscellany, published at Cambridge, 
in 1804-5, several reviews and brief poetical 
translations, and had been a frequent contributor 
to the Monthly Anthology. 

From 1813 to 1821 he was college librarian. 
In the former 3'ear he also commenced the course 
of instruction through which he gained his great- 
est distinction in his entrance upon the lecture- 
ship of Biblical Criticism and Interpretation, un- 
der the bequest of the Hon. Samuel Dexter, in 
which Buckminster and Clianning were his pre- 
decessors. He discharged this duty till a similar 
professorship was created in 1819, when he be- 
came the new incumbent, holding the office till 
1830. He then resigned it with the reputation 
of having performed its offices with industry, self- 
reliance, and a happy method of statement. He 
had in the meanwhile published several works. 
In 1814 he edited the Miscellaneous Writings of 
his friend Charles Eliot, whose early death he 
sincerely lamented, and in 1823 published a simi- 
lar memoir of another friend anil associate, the 
poet and professor Levi Frisbie. He wrote several 
tracts on the affairs of the college in 1824—5. At 
this time he was a contributor to the Christian 
Disciple of several articles on theological topics. 
In 1826 he edited an edition of the poems of Mrs. 
Hemans, of whom he was an earnest admirer, 
and in the following year in a visit to England 
was rewarded with her friendship in a pergonal 
acquaintance. In 1833 he published a theolo- 
gical treatise, A Statement of Reasons for not be- 
lieving the Doctrines of Trinitarians concerning 
the nature of God and the person of Christ. In 
1832-1 he edited, in connexion with his friend 
Charles Folsom, a quarterly publication. The Se- 
lect Journal of Foreign Periodical Literature, 
which contained, among other original articles 
from his pen, papers on Goethe and Hamilton's 
Men and Manners in America. 

In 1837 appeared the first volume of the most 
important of his publications, the Genuineness 
of the Gospel, followed by the second and third 
in 1844. It is devoted to the external historical 
evidence, and maintains a high character among 
theologians for its scholarship, and the pure me- 
dium of reasoning and style through which its 
researches are conveyed. He had also prepared 
a new translation of -the Gospels, with critical 
and explanatory notes, which he left at the time 
of his death ready for the press. Besides these 
writings Mr. Norton was a frequent contributor 
to the Christian Examiner of articles on religious 
topics and others of a general literary interest, on 
the poetry of Mrs. Hemans and Pollok's Course 
of Time. He wrote for the North American Re- 
view on Franklin, Byron, Ware's Letters from 
Palmyra, and the Memoir of Mrs. Grant of Lag- 

His poems were few, but choicely expressed ; 
and have been constant favorites with the public. 
They are the best indications of his temper, and 

of the fine devotional mood which pervades his 

Professor Norton died at Newport, which he 
had chosen for his residence in the failing health 
of his last years, Sunday evening, September 18, 


The rain is o'er. How dense and bright 

Yon pearly clouds reposing lie ! 
Cloud above cloud, a glorious sight, 

Contrasting "with the dark blue sky! 

In grateful silence, earth receives 

The general blessing; fresh and fair, 
Each flower expands its little leaves, 

As glad the common joy to share. 
The softened sunbeams pour around 

A fairy light, uncertain, pale; 
The wind flows cool ; the scented ground 

Is breathing odors on the gale. 

Mid yon rich clouds' voluptuous pile, 

Me thinks some spirit of the air 
Might rest, to gaze below awhile, 

Then turn to bathe and revel there. 

The sun breaks forth ; from off the scene 

Its floating veil of mist is flung ; 
And all the wilderness of green 

With trembling drops of light is hung. 

Now gnzc on Nature^yet the same — 
Glowiig with life, by breezes fanned, 

Luxuriant, lovely, as she came, 

Fresh in her youth, from God's own hand. 

Hear the rich music of that voice, 

"Which sounds from all below, above; 
She calls her children to rejoice, 

And round them throws her arms of love. 
Drink in her influence ; low-born care. 

And all the train of mean desire, 
Refuse to breathe this holy air, 

And 'mid this living light expire. 


I love, thou little chirping thing, 

To hear thy melancholy noise ; 
Though thou to Fancy's ear may sing 

Of summer past and fading joys. 
Thou canst not now drink dew from flowers. 

Nor sport along the traveller's path, 
But, through the winter's weary hours, 

Shalt warm thee at my lonely hearth. 

And when my lamp's decaying beam 
But dimly shows the lettered page, 

Rich with some ancient poet's dream, 
Or wisdom of a purer age, — 

Then will I listen to thy sound, 

And, musing o'er the embers pale, 
With whitening ashes strewed around, 

The forms of memory unveil ; 

Recall the many-colored dreams, 

That Fancy fondly weaves for youth, 

When all the bright illusion seems 
The pictured promises of truth ; 

Perchance, observe the fitful light, 
And its faint flashes round the room, 

And think some pleasures, feebly bright, 
May lighten thus life's varied gloom. 

* We have followed closely in this account the authentic 
narrative article, published after Professor Norton"s death, in 
the Christian Examiner for November, 1858. 



I love the quiet midnight hour, 

When Care, and Hope, and Passion sleep, 
And Reason, with untroubled power, 

Can her late vigils duly keep ; — 

I love the night : and sooth to say, 
Before the merry birds, that sing 

In all the glare and noise of day, 
Prefer tiie cricket's grating wing. 

But, see ! pale Autumn strews her leaves, 
Her withered leaves, o'er Nature's grave, 

"While giant Winter 6he perceives, 
Dark rushing from his icy cave ; 

And in his train the sleety showers, 
That beit upon the barren earth ; 

Thou, cricket, through these weary hours, 
Shalt warm thee at my lonely hearth. 


My God, I thank thee! ma}' no thought 
E'er deem thy chastisements severe ; ■ 

But may this heart, by sorrow taught, 
Calm each wild wish, each idle fear. 

Thy mercy bids all nature bloom ; 

The sun shines bright, and man is gay; 
Thine equal mercy spreads the gloom 

That darkens o'er his little day. 

Pull many a throb of grief and pain 
Thy frail and erring child must know, 

But not one prayer is breathed in vain 
Nor does one tear unheeded flow. 

Thy various messengers employ ; 

Thy purposes of love fulfil ; 
And 'mid the wreck of human joy, 

May kneeling faith adore thy will I 


He has gone to his God ; lie has gone to his home; 
No more amid peril and error to roam ; 
His eyes are no longer dim ; 

His feet will no more falter ; 
No grief can follow him, 

No pang his cheek can alter. 

There are paleness, and weeping, and sighs below ; 
Por our faith is faint, and our tears will flow ; 
But the harps of heaven are ringing ; 

Glad angels come to greet him; 
And hymns of joy are singing, 

While old friends press to meet him. 

O honored, beloved, to earth uneonfined, 
Thou hast soared on high ; thou hast left us behind ; 
But our parting is not for ever; 

We will follow thee, by heaven's light, 
Where the grave cannot dissever 
The souls whom God will unite. 

JonN England, the Roman Catholic Bishop of 
Charleston, was born in Cork, Ireland, September 
23, 1786. He was educated in the schools of his 
native town, and at the age of fifteen, avowing 
his intention td become an ecclesiastic, was placed 
under the care of the Very Rev. Robert M'Carthy, 
by whom he was in two years fitted for the 
college of Carlow. During his connexion with 
this institution, he was instrumental in procuring 
the establishment of a female penitentiary in the 
town. On the ninth of October, 1808, he was 
ordained Deacon, and the following day Priest, 

and was appointed lecturer at the Cork Cathe- 
dral, an office which he discharged with great 
success. In May, 1809, he started a monthly 
periodical, The Religious Repertory, with the ob- 
ject of supplanting the corrupt literature current 
among the people, by a more healthy literary nu- 
triment. He was also active in various charitable 
works, and indefatigable in his attendance on the 
victims of pestilence, and the inmates of prisons. 
In 1812 he took an active part, as a political 
writer, in the discussion of the subject of Catho- 
lic Emancipation. In 1817 he was appointed 
Parish Priest of Bandon, where he remained 
until made by the Pope, Bishop of the newly 
constituted See of Charleston, embracing the two 
Carolinas and Georgia. He was consecrated in 
Ireland, but refused to take the oath of allegiance 
to the British government customary on such oc- 
casions, declaring his intention to become natu- 
ralized in the United States. He arrived in 
Charleston, December 31, 1820. 

One of his first acts was the establishment of a 
thoalogical seminary, to which a preparatory 
school was attached. This led to corresponding 
exertions on the part of Protestants in the matter 
of education, which had hitherto been much ne- 
glected, and the first number of the Southern Re- 
view honored the bishop with the title of restorer 
of classical learning in Charleston. He was also 
instrumental in the formation of an " Anti-duel- 
ling Society," for the suppression of that barba- 
rous and despicable form of manslaughter, of 
which General Thomas Pinckney was the first 
president. He also commenced a periodical, The 
United States Catholic Miscellany, to which ho 
continued a constant contributor to the time of 
his death. 

The bishop was greatly aided in his charitable 
endeavors, and in his social influence, by the ar- 
rival of his sister, Miss Joanna England. "She 
threw her little fortune into his poverty-stricken 
institutions. Her elegant taste presided over the 
literary department of the Miscellany. Her fe- 
minine tact would smoothe away whatever harsh- 
ness his earnest temper might unconsciously in- 
fuse into his controversial writings. Her presence 
shed a magic charm around his humble dwelling, 
and made it the envied resort of the talented, the 
beautiful, and gay."* This estimable lady died in 

In times of pestilence, Bishop England was 
fearless and untiring in his heroic devotion to the 
sick. He was so active in the di-charge of his 
duties and in Ids ordinary movements, that on his 
visits to Rome, four of which occurred during his 
episcopate, he was called by the cardinals, il 
tescoco a vapore. 

It was on his return from the last of these 
journeys, that in consequence of his exertions as 
priest and physician among the steerage passengers 
of the ship in which he sailed, he contracted the 
disease, dysentery, which was prevalent among 
them. He landed after a voyage of fifty-two 
days in Philadelphia, and instead of recruiting his 
strength, preached seventeen nights in succession. 
His health had been impaired some months pre- 
viously, and although on his arrival at Charles- 
ton he became somewhat better, he died not 

* Memoir of Ep. England prefixed to his works. 



long after, on the eleventh of April, 1842, in the 
fifty-sixth year of his age. 

the collected works of Bishop England* hear 
testimony to his literary industry, as well as 
ability. They extend to five large octavo volumes 
of some five hundred pages each, closely printed 
in double columns. They are almost entirely oc- 
cupied by essays on topics of controversial theo- 
logy, many of which are in the form of letters 
published during his lifetime in various periodi- 
cals. A portion of the fourth and fifth volumes 
is filled by the author's addresses before various 
college societies, and on other public occasions, 
including an oration on the character of Washing- 
ton. The.^e writings, like the discourses which in 
his lifetime.attracted admiring crowds, are marked 
by force and elegance of style. 


"Was born in Charleston, S. C, September 26, 
1786. He was a descendant of the Huguenots. 
At the age of seventeen he was at Yale College, 
and travelled with Dr. Dwight during one of his 
vacations. Returning home, he studied law in the 
office of Mr. Langdon Clieves, and gradually at- 
tained distinction at the bar and in the politics of 
his state. His most noted legal effort was a 
speech on the constitutionality of the South Caro- 
lina "test oath" in 1834. As state senator from 
St. Philip's and St. Michael's in a speech on the 
Tariff in 1828, he supported the General Govern- 
ment and the Constitutional authority of the 
whole people. His literary efforts were chiefly 
'orations and addresses illustrating topics of phi- 
lanthropy and reform. Literature also employed 
his attention. He wrote several articles for the 
Southern Review. In a Fourth of July Oration 
at Charleston in 1809, by the appointment of the 
South Carolina State Society of Cincinnati, he 
supports union, and describes the horrors of civil 

Thus should we see the objects of these States 
not only unanswered but supplanted by others. 
They had instituted the civic festival of peace, and 
beheld it changed for the triumph of war; They 
had crowned the eminent statesman with the olive 
of the citizen, and saw it converted into the laurels 
of the warrior. The old man who had walked ex- 
ultingly in procession, to taste the waters of free- 
dom from the fountain of a separate government, 
beheld the placid stream that flowed from it sud- 
denly sink from his sight, and burst forth a dark and 
turbulent torrent. 

His addresses on peace societies, Sunday schools, 
temperance and kindred topics, secured him the 
respect and sympathy of a large circle. He pub- 
lished and circulated gratuitously a large edition 
of Hancock on War, and at his death was re- 
publishing Dymond's Enquiry into the Accordance 

* The Works of the Eight Eev. John England, First Bishop 
of Charleston, collected and arranged nndrr the advice and di- 
rection of his immediate successor, the Eight Eev. Ignatius 
Aloysius Eeynolds, and printed for him, in five volumes. Bal- 
timore : John Murphy & Co. 1849. 

of "War with the Principles of Christianit}', for 
which he wrote an introductory essay. In 1827 
he delivered an address on The Character and 
Objects of Science before the Literary and Philo- 
sophical Society of South Carolina; in 1830, an 
address before the Phi Beta Kappa of Yale, on 
I The Advantages to be denied from the Introduc- 
tion of the Bible and of sacred literature as 
l essential parts of all Education, in a literary 
j point of view. His oration on American educa- 
tion before the "Western Literary Institute and 
College of Professional Teachers at Cincinnati, 
was delivered by him only a few days before his 
death, which occurred suddenly at the house of a 
gentleman by the roadside, from an attack of 
cholera, October 12, 1834, while on his way to 
Columbus, Ohio. 

In a prefatory memorandum to this last ad- 
dress, the views of orthography which he had 
latterly adopted are clearly stated. 

" Having been long satisfied that the orthography 
of the English language not only admitted but re- 
quired a reform ; and believing it my duty to act 
on this conviction, I hav publish d sevral pamphlets 
accordingly." These are his several propositions, 
which we give mostly in his words, following the 
exact spellii g. 1. He omits the silent e iu such 
classes of words as disciplin, respit, believ, creativ, 
volly, etc. 2. Intioduees the apostiophe where the 
omission of the e might chai ge the sound of the pre- 
ceding vowel from loi g to short, as in requir'd, re- 
firifl, deriv'd. 3. Kouns endn g in y added an s to 
make the plural instead of chat gii g y into ie, as 
pluralitys, enmitys, &c.' 4. In veibs ending in y, in- 
stead of changing into ie and then adding an s or d, 
he retains the y and adds s or d : as in burys, 
buryd, vnrys, varyd, hurrys, hurryd. 5. In similar 
veibs where the y is loi g, I retain the y, omit the e, 
and substitute an apostrophe, as in multiply "s, multi- 
ply'd, satisl'y's, satisfy 'd. ti. In such words as sceptre, 
battle, centre, I transpose the e, and write scepter, 
battel, center. 7. He suppresses one of two and the 
same consonants where the accent is not on them; 
as in necesary, excclcnt, ilustrious, recomivd, cfcelual, 
{resistible, worshipers. S. In such words as honor, 
favor, savior, neighbor, savor, the u is omitted. 9. 
In adjectives endii g in y, instead of forming the 
compaiativ and superlativ by chat ging y into ie 
and adding er and est, I hnv retained the y, and 
', simply added the er and est, as in easyer, eaxyest, 
I holyer, holyest, prcttycr, preiiyest. In quotations 
i and proper names, 1 hav not felt call'd upon to 
j change the orthography. 

This was not Grimkes only literary heresy.. In 
his oration on the subject " that neither the classics 
nor the mathematics should form a part of a scheme 
of general education in our country," he condemns 
all existing schemes. " I think them radicaly de- 
feetiv in elements and modes." They are not " de- 
cidedly religious," neither are they "American." 
The latter, since the classics and mathematics being 
the same everywhere, are not of course distinctive 
to the country. "They do not fill the mind," he 
6ays, " with useful and entertaining knowledge." 
"As to valuable knowledge, except the first and 
most simple parts of arithmetic, I feel little hesita- 
tion in saying, as the result of my experience and 
observation, that the whole body of the pure mathe- 
matics is absolutely cseless to ninety-nine out of 
every hundred, who study them. Now, as to enter- 
tainment. Does more than one out of every hun- 
dred preserv his mathematical knowlege ? " 

" Ten thousand pockets," says he," might be pick'd 



without finding a dozen classics." " I ask boldly th e 
question, what is there in the classics; that is realy 
instructiv and interesting?" He asks triumphantly 
— the ig ao.rance is amazing, — '.' What orator ever 
prepared himself for parliamentary combat over the 
pages of Cicero or Demosthenes?" "Having dis- 
pos'd of the orators and historians, let us now attend 
to the classic poets, of what value are they ? I an- 
swer of none, so for as useful fcnowlege is con- 
cerned ; for all must admit, that none is to be found 
in this class of writers. It is plain that truth is a 
very minor concern, with writers of fiction. * * * 
I am strangely mistaken, if there be not more 
power, fidelity, and beauty in Walter Scott, than in 
a dozen Homers and Virgds. * * * Mrs: Hemans has 
written a greater number of charming little pieces, 
than are to be found in Horace and Anacreon." 

The activity of Grimke's mind was sometimes 
in advance of his judgment. He was a happy 
man in his life, — his benevolence, and the ardor 
of his pursuits filling his heart. His death was re- 
ceived with every token of respect at Charleston, 
the preamble to the resolutions of the bar de- 
claring "his mild face will no longer be seen 
among us, but the monuments of his public use- 
fulness and benevolence are still with us, and the 
memory of his virtues will still dwell within our 
hearts."* The introduction of the Bible into 
schools was a favorite idea with him, which lie 
urged in Ins Phi Beta address. lie wrote occa- 
sional verses, and a descriptive poem on the 
Passaic, which is unpublitJied. As a speaker, 
he showed great readiness in a copious and fluent 

A brother of the preceding, Frederick Grimke, 
is the author of a popular political text-hook, en- 
titled The Nature and Tendency of Free Institu- 
tions, published in Cincinnati in 18-18. 


Samuel Farmar, the son of the Rev. Dr. Abra- 
ham Jarvis, afterwards bishop of the diocese of 
Connecticut, was born at Middletown in that 
State, January 20, 1787. He. was educated under 
the care of his father, and entered the Sophomore 
class of Yale College in 1802. He was ordained 
deacon March 18, 1810, and priest April 5, 1811, 
by his father, and became, in 1813, the rector of 
St. Michael's Church, Bloomingdale, New York. 
In 1819 he was appointed Professor of Biblical 
Learning in the recently organized General Theo- 
logical Seminary, a position he retained until Ids 
removal in 1820 to Boston, in acceptance of a call 
to the rectorship of St. Paul's church, where he 
remained until July, 182(5, when he sailed for 
Europe. He remained 'abroad until 1835, pursuing 
his studies and collecting books connected with 
ecclesiastical history. Six of the nine years of his 
absence were passed in Italy. On his return he 
filled for two years the professorship of Oriental 
Literature in Washington College, Hartford. In 
1S37 he removed to Middletown to take charge, 
as rector,, of Christ church in that place. He re- 
signed this position in 1842, and devoted the 
remainder of his life to a work which he had 
commenced immediately after his return from Eu- 
rope. This was a history of the church, a work 

* Collection of Addresses, &c, by Gr'mkr, and Obituary 
Notices furnished by his family ia the Boston Atheuasum. 

especially intrusted to his hands by a vote of the 
General Convention of the dioceses of the United 
States, constituting him " Historiographer of the 

The first portion of his work published, ap- 
peared at New York, in 1845, in an octavo vo- 
lume entitled, A Chronological Introduction to 
the History of the Church, with, an Original 
Harmony of the Four Gospels.* A great portion 
of this learned volume is occupied with chronolo- 
gical tables, dissertations on the dates of our Lord's 
birth, which he places in the year of Rome 747, 
six years before the commonly received Christian 
era. In the Harmony of the Gospels the informa- 
tion the narratives contain is given in a consecu- 
tive form, embodying the facts but not the words 
of Scripture; while in four parallel columns at 
the side, reference is given to the chapter and verse 
of each of the Evangelists in which the event do- 
scribed is recorded. 

The first volume of the historyt itself was pub- 
lished in 1850. In it the author traces the course 
of the divine providence from the fall of Adam, 
the flood, the calling of Abraham, and the entire 
Jewish history, to the destruction of Jerusalem by 
Titus. While the same scrupulous regard to fact 
is manifested in this as in the introduction, the 
literary skill, for which no opportunity was af- 
forded in the first, is used to good advantage in 
the second, the narrative being well written as 
well its accurate. In the author's own simile, the 
first volume is the rough stone-work of the foun- 
dation, the second i i the elaborated superstructure 
which must satisfy, so far as it can, the eye of the 
artist as well as the mechanic. 

In addition to his history, Dr. Jarvis published, 
in 1821, a discourse on Regeneration, with notes; 
in 1837, on Christian Unity ; and in 1843, a col- 
lection of Sermons on Prophecy, a work of great 
research, forming a volume of about two hundred 
pages. In 1843 he also issued a pamphlet enti- 
tled, No Union wi'h Some; in 1846 a sermon, 
The Colonics of Heaven; and in 1847 a volume 
containing a Reply to Dr. Milners End of Reli- 
gious Controversy. He also-contributed a number 
of learned and valuable articles to the Church 
Review. His progress in his history, and the 
other useful labors of his life, was interrupted by 
his death, March 26, 1851. 

Dr. Jarvis was a fine classical as well as biblical 
scholar. He also took a great interest in Art, and 
collected during his European residence a large 
gallery of old paintings, mostly of the Italian 
school, which were exhibited on his return for the 
benefit of a charitable association, and were again 
collected after his death in the city of New York 
to be dispersed by the auctioneer's hammer, with 
the large and valuable library, which included a 
number of volumes formerly owned by the histo- 
rian Gibbon. 

* A Chronological Introduction to the History of the Chnrch, 
being a new inquiry into the True Dates ofthe Birth and Death 
of Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ ; and containing an ori- 
ginal Ilarmonv of the Four Gospels, now first arranged in the 
order of time, by the Eev. S. F. Jarvis, D.D..LL.D. New 
York : Harper & Brothers. 1545. 8vo. pp. 618. 

t The Church ofthe Eedeemed, or the History ofthe Media- 
torial Kingdom, 2 Vols, containing the First Five Periods ; 
from the Fall of Adam in Paradise to the Rejection ofthe Jews 
and the Calling of the Gentiles. By the Rev. S. F. Jarvis, 
D.D., LL.D. Boston : Charles Stimpson. 1850. 8vo. pp. 0G2. 




William Crafts was bora at Charleston, S. C, 
Jan. 24, 1787. "Owing," says his anonymous 
biographer,* somewhat grandiloquently, " to the 
precarious and evanescent character of the schools 
in Charleston," his early education suffered 
Boinewhat from the frequent change of teachers. 
He appears to have made up for juvenile dis- 
advantages when in the course of education he 
reached Harvard, as he had a fair reputation there 
as a classical scholar, and judging from his advice 
subsequently to a younger brother, went still 
deeper into the ancient languages. " I hope," he 
writes, " that you will not treat the Hebrew 
tongue with that cold neglect and contemptuous 
disdain which it usually meets at Cambridge, and 
which is very much like the treatment a Jew 
receives from a Christian." ' Jlis chief reputation 
among his fellows was as a wit and pleasant com- 

He returned to Charleston, was admitted in 
due course to practice, and the remainder of his 
life was passed in the duties of his profession and 
those of a member of the State Legislature, to 
which he was frequently elected. He was a 
ready speaker, and a large portion of the volume 
of his Literary Remain^ consists of his orations 
on patriotic occasions. In 1817, he delivered the 
Phi Beta Kappa address at Harvard. These pro- 
ductions, as well as his prose essays, are somewhat 
too florid in style and deficient in substance for 
permanent recollection. Passages, however, occur 
of pleasing ornament and animation. 

His poems are few and brief. The two longest 
are Sullivan's Island, a pleasant description of 
that ocean retreat, and The Daciad, in which the 
humors of the ring are depicted. An extract 
from " Kitty" follows, on the plea that " in New 
York they have Fanny, in Boston Sukey.J and 
why should we not have Kitty in Charleston !" 
There are also several agreeable lyrics. The 
Monody on the Death of Decatur was written 
immediately after the intelligence of the Commo- 
dore's death was received, and published the day 
following, a circumstance which should not be 
forgotten in a critical estimate. It is not included 
in the collection of his writings. He also wrote 
The Sea Serpent ; or Gloucester Hoax, a dramatic 
jeu d'esprit in three acts, published in a pamphlet 
of 34 pages 12mo. Crafts was a constant writer 
for the Charleston Courier, and a number of his 
communications, some mere scraps, are printed 
in the volume of his " writings," but call for no 
especial remark. 

Crafts died at Lebanon Springs, K. Y., Sept. 
23, 1826. 


Sweet scented newel's on beauty's grave 
We strew — but, for the honored brave, 

* Life prefixed to his Remains. 

t A Selection, in Prose and Poetry, from the Miscellaneous 
"Writings of the late William Crafts, to which is prefixed a Me- 
moir or his Life. Charleston. 1S28. 

% By William B. Walter. 

The fallen conqueror of the wave — 
Let ocean's flags adorn the bier, 
And be the Fall of Glory there ! 

Tri-colored France ! 'twas first with thee 
He braved the battles of the sea ; 
And many a son of thine he gave 
A resting-place beneath the wave. 
Feared in the fight — beloved in peace 
In death the feuds of vaior cease. 
Then let thy viigin lilies shed 
Their fragrant whiteness o'er his head. 
The} 7 grace a hero's form within, 
As spotless— as unstained of sin. 

Come, savage, from the Lybian shore, 
Kneel at his grave, who — bathed in gore, 
Avenged his brother's murder on 3-our deck. 
And drenched with coward blood the sinking wreck! 
Lives in your mind that death-dispensh g night, 
The purple ambush and the sabred fight, — 
The blazing frigate — and the cannon's 1 oar. 
That shamed your warriors flyh-g to the shore : 
"Who, panic-stricken, plunged into the sea, 
And found the death they vainly hoped to flee. 

Now silent, cold, inanimate he lies, 

"Who sought the conflict and achieved the prize. 

Here, savage, pause ! The unresented worm 

Revels on him — w T ho ruled the battle storm. 

His country's call — though bleeding and in tears — 

Not e'en his country's call, the hero hears. 

The floating streamers that his fame attest, 

Repose in honored folds upon his breast, 

And glory's lamp, with patriot sorrows fed. 

Shall blaze eternal on Decatur's bed. 

Britannia! — noble-hearted foe — 

Hast thou no funeral flowers of woe 

To grace his sepulchre — who ne'er again 

Shall meet thy warriors on the purple main. 

His pride to conquer — and his joy to save — 

In triumph generous, as in battle brave — 

Heroic — ardent — when a captive — great! 

Feeling, as valiant — thou deplorest liis fate. 

And these thy sons who met him in the fray, 

Shall weep with manly tears the hero passed away. 

Fresh trophies graced his laurel-covered days, 

His soil was danger — and his harvest, praise. 

Still as he marched victorious o'er the flood, 
I It shook with thunder — and it streamed with blood. 
j He dimmed the baneful crescent of Algiers, 

And taught the pirate penitence and tears. 

The Christian stars on faithless shores revealed, 

And lo ! the slave is free — the robbers yield. 
j A Christian conqueror in the savage strife, 
; He gave his victims liberty and life. 

Taught to relent — the infidel shall mourn, 
i And the pale crescent hover o'er his urn. 

I And thou, my country ! young but ripe in grief I 
j Who shall console thee for tlie fallen chief ! 
\ Thou envied land, whom frequent foes assail, 
Too often called to bleed or to prevail ; 
Doomed to deplore the gallant sons that save, 
And follow from the triumph to — the grave. 

Death seems enamoured of a glorious prize, 
The chieftain conquers ere the victim dies. 
Illustrious envoys — to some brighter sphere 
They bear the laurels which they gathered here. 

War slew thy Lawrence! Nor when blest with 

Did then thy sufferings or thy sorrows cease: 
The joyous herald, who the olive bore, 
Sunk in the wave — to greet his home no more: 
He sunk, alas ! — blest with a triple wreath, 
The modest Shubriek met the shaft of death. 



For Blakely, slumbering in victorious sleep, 
Rocked in the stormy cradle of the deep, 
We yield alike the tribute and the tear, 
The brave are always to their country dear. 

Sorrow yet speaks in valor's eye, 
Still heaves the patriot breast the sigh, 
For Perry's early fate. O'er his cold brow 
Where victory reigned sits death triumphant now. 
Thou peerless youth, thou unassuming chief, 
Thy country's blessing and thy country's grief, 
Lord of the lake, and champion of the sea, 
Long shall our nation boast — for ever mourn for 


Another hero meets his doom ; 

Such are the trophies of the tomb I 

Ambitious death assails the high ; 

The shrub escapes, the cedars die. 

The beacon turrets of the land 

Submissive fall at Heaven's command, 

While wondering, weeping mortals gaze, 

In silent grief and agonized amaze. 

Thou starry streamer ! symbol of the brave, 
Shining by day and night, on land and wave; 
Sometimes obscured in battle, ne'er in shame, 
The guide — the boast — the arbitress of fame!' 
Still wave in grateful admiration near, 
And beam for ever on Decatur's bier ; 
And ye, blest stars of Heaven ! responsive shed 
Your pensive lustre on his lowly bed. 


Eliza Leslie was born in Philadelphia, Novem- 
ber 15, 1787. Her father was of Scotch descent, 
the family having emigrated to America about 
1745, and was by profession a watchmaker. He 
wai an excellent mathematician, and an intimate 
friend of Franklin and Jefferson, by the latter of 
whom he was made a member of the American 
Philosophical Society. He had five children, the 
eldest of whom is the subject of this sketch. An- 
other is Charles E. Leslie, who has passed the 
greater portion of his life in England, and holds tho 
foremost rank among the painters of that country, 
his line of art being somewhat analogous to that 
of his sister in literature, a like kindly and genu- 
ine humor and artistic finish pervading bis cabi- 
net pictures and her " Pencil Sketches." Her 
other brother is Major Thomas J. Leslie, D. S. A. 
When Miss Leslie was five years old she accom- 
panied her parent i to London, where they resided 
for six and a half years, her father being engaged 
in the exportation of clocks to this country. The 
death of his partner led to his return. On the 
voyage home the ship put into Lisbon, and re- 
mained at that port from November to March. 
They finally reached Philadelphia in May. The 
father died in 1803. 

Miss Leslie early displayed a taste for books 
and drawing. She was educated for the most 
part at home by her parents. 

" Like most authors," she says in an autobio- 
graphical letter to her friend Mrs. Neal, " I made 
my first attempts in verse. They were always 
songs, adapted to the popular airs of that time, 
the close of the last century. The subjects were 
chiefly soldiers, sailors, hunters, and nuns. I 
scribbled two or three in the pastoral line, hut 
my father once pointing out to me a real shep- 
herd, in a field somewhere in Kent, I made no 
farther attempt at Damons and Strephons playing 

on lutes and wreathing their brows with roses. 
My songs were, of course, foolish enough ; but in 
justice to myself I will say, that, having a good 
ear, I was never guilty of a false quantity in any 
of my poetry- — my lines never had a syllable too 
much or too little, and my rhymes always did 
rhyme. At thirteen or fourteen I began to de- 
spise my own poetry, and destroyed all I had." 

<0 S,ca. <=xCejiC^y 

Miss Leslie did not appear in print until the 
year 1827, and then it was as the author of Se- 
venty-five Receipts for Pastry, Cakes, and Street- 
meats. The collection had been commenced some 
time before, " when a pupil of Mrs. Goodfellow's 
cooking school, in Philadelphia," and was in such 
request in manuscript that an offer to publish 
was eagerly accepted. The book was successful, 
and the publisher suggesting a work of imagina- 
tion, the author prepared The Mirror, a collec- 
tion of juvenile stories. It was followed by The 
Young Americans, Stories for Emma, Stories for 
Adelaide, Atlantic Tales, Stories for Helen, Birth- 
day Stories, and a compilation from Munchausen, 
Gulliver, and Sinbad, appropriately entitled The 
Wonderful Traveller, all volumes designed for 
children. The American Girl's Booh was pub- 
lished in 1831, and has steadily maintained its 
position since. 

Among the first of her stories for readers "of 
a larger growth" was Mrs. Washington Potts, 
written for a prize offered by the Lady's Book, 
which it was successful in obtaining. The author 
subsequently took three more prizes of a similar 
character, and at once became a constant and 
most popular contributor to "Godey and Gra- 
ham." Miss Leslie also edited the Gift, one of 
the best of the American annuals. Her only story 
occupying a volume by itself, and approaching the 
ordinary dimensions of a novel, is Amelia ; or, A 
Young Lady's Vicissitudes. 

Miss Leslie's magazine tales have been collected 
in three volumes with the title of Pencil Sketches. 
She has also published Althea Vernon, or the 



Embroidered Handkerchief, and Henrietta Har- 
rison, or the Blue Cotton Umbrella, in one vo- 
lume; and, each in a separate pamphlet, Kitty's 
delations, Leonilla Lynmore, The Maid of Ca- 
nal Street, and The Darnings and their Beaux. 

During her career as a tale writer Miss Leslie 
has not forgotten the unctuous and delectable 
teachings of Mrs. Goodfellow, and has followed 
up the. success of the seventy-five receipts by a 
much greater number, in The Domestic Coolery 
Booh, 1837, of which over forty thousand copies 
have been sold; The House Boole, 1840; and The 
Lady's Receipt Book, 1846, which have also had 
great success. In 1853 she published The Be- 
havior Book, one of her pleasantest volumes, com- 
bining the solid good advice of her works on do- 
mestic duties with the happy vein of humor of 
her sketches. 


"Pray, sir," said Mrs. Quimby, "as you are from 
England, do you know anything of Betsey Deinp- 
sey's husband ?" 

*"I have not the honor of being acquainted with 
that person," replied Mr. Montague, after a wither- 
ing stare. 

"Well, that's strange," pursued Aunt Qnimby, 
"considering that she lias been living in London at 
least eighteen years — or perhaps it is oidy seven- 
teen! And yet I think it must be near eighteen, if 
not quite. May be seventeen and a half. Well, it's 
best to be on the safe side, so I'll say seventeen. 
Betsey Dempsey's mother was an old schoolmate of 
mine. Her father kept the Black Horse tavern. 
She was the only acquaintance I ever had that mar- 
ried an Englishman. He was a grocer, and in very 
good business; but he never liked America, and 
was always finding fault with it, and so he went 
home, and was to send for Betsey. But he never 
sent for her at all ; for a very good reason, which 
was that he had another wife in England, as most 
of them have — no disparagement to you, sir." 

Mrs. Marsden now came up, and informed Mrs. 
Potts in a whisper that the good old lady beside her 
was a distant relation or rather connexion of Mr. 
Marsden's, and that though a little primitive in ap- 
pearance and manner, she had considerable property 
in bank-stock. To Mrs. Marsden's proposal that she 
should exchange her seat for a very pleasant one in 
the other room next to her old friend Mrs. Willis, 
Aunt Quimby replied nothing but "Thank you, I'm 
doing very well here." 

Mrs. and Miss Montague, apparently heeding no 
one else, had talked nearly the whole evening to each 
other, but loudly enough to be heard by all around 
them. The young lady, though dressed as a child, 
talked like a woman, and she and her mother were 
now engaged in an argument whether the flirtation 
of the Duke of Risingham with Lady Georgiana 
Melbury would end seriously or not. " To my cer- 
tain knowledge,'' said Miss Montague, " his Grace 
has never }-et declared himself to Georgiana, or to 
any T one else." 

" I'll lay you two to one," said Mrs. Montague, 
" that he is married before we return to England." 

" No," replied the daughter, " like nil others of his 
Bex he delights in keeping the ladies in suspense." 

" What 3-0U say, Miss, is very true," said Aunt 
Quimby, leaning in her turn across Mr. Montague, 
" and considering how young you are you talk very 
sensibly. Men certainly have a way of keeping 
women in suspense, and an unwillingness to answer 
questions even when we ask them. There's my son- 

in-law Billy Fairfowl, that I live with. He married 
my daughter Mary eleven years ago, the 23d of last 
April. He's as good a man as ever breathed, and 
an excellent provider too. He always goes to mar- 
ket himself; and sometimes I can't help blaming 
him a little for his extravagance. But his greatest 
fault is his being so unsatisfactory. As far back as 
last March, as I was sitting at my knitting in the 
little front parlor with the door open (for it was 
quite warm weather for the time of year), Billy 
Fairfowl came home carrying in his hand a good- 
sized shad ; and I called out to him to ask him what 
he gave for it, for it was the very beginning of the 
shad season ; but he made not a word of answer ; 
he had just passed on, and left the shad in the kit- 
chen, and then went to his store. At dinner we 
had the fish, and a very nice one it was; and I 
asked him again how much he gave for it, but he 
still avoided answering, and began to talk about 
something else ; so I thought I'd let it rest awhile. 
A week or two after, I again asked him ; so then 
he actually said he had foi gotten all about it. And 
to this day I don't know the price of that shad." 

The Montagues looked at each othei — almost 
laughed aloud, and drew back their chairs as far 
from Aunt Quimby as possible. So also did Mrs. 
Potts. Mrs. Marsden came up in an agony of vexa- 
tion, and reminded her aunt in a low voice of the 
risk of renewing her rheumatism by staying so long 
between the damp newly-papered walls. The old 
lady answered aloud, " Oh ! you need not fear, I 
am well wrapped up on purpose. And indeed con- 
sidering that the parlors were only papered to-day, 
I think the walls have dried wonderfully (putting 
her hands on the paper)— I am sure nobody could 
find out the damp if they were i.ot told." 

" What !" exclaimed the Montagues ; " only pa- 
pered to-day (starting up and testifying all that 
prudent fear of taking cold, so characteristic of the 
English ). How baibarous to inveigle us into such a 

" I thought I felt strangely chilly all the evening," 
says Mrs. Potts, wdiose fan had scarcely been at rest 
five minutes. 

The Montagues proposed going away immediately, 
and Mis. Potts declared she was most apprehensive 
for poor little Lafayette. Mrs. Marsden, who conld 
not venture the idea of their departing till all the 
refreshments had been handed round (the best being 
yet to come), took great pains to persuade them that 
there was no real cause of alarm, as she had large 
fires all the afternoon. They held a whispered con- 
sultation, in which they agreed to stay for the oys- 
ters and chicken salad, and Mrs. Marsden went out 
to send them their shawls, with one for Lafayette. 

By this time the secret of the newly-papered walls 
had spread round both rooms ; the conversation 
now turned entirely on colds and rheumatisms; 
there was much shivering and considerable cough- 
ing, and the demand for shawls increased. How- 
ever nobody actually went home in consequence. 

"Papa," said Miss Montague, "let Us all take 
French leave as soon as the oysters and chicken- 
salad have gone round." 

Albina now came up to Aunt Quimby (gladly per- 
ceiving that the old lady looked tired), and pro- 
posed that she should return to her chamber, assur- 
ing her that waiters should be punctually sent up 
to her — " I do not feel quite ready to go yet," re- 
plied Mrs. Quimby. " I am very well. But you 
need not mind me. Go back to your company, and 
talk a little to those three poor girls in the yellow 
frocks that nobody has spoken to yet except Brom- 
ley Cheston. When I am ready to go I shall take 
French leave, as these English people call it." 



But Aunt Quimby's idea of French leave "was 
Tery different from the usual acceptation of the 
term; for having always heard that the French 
were a very polite people, she concluded that their 
manner of taking leave must be particularly re- 
spectful and ceremonious. Therefore, having paid 
her parting compliments to Mrs. Potts and the Mon- 
tagues, she walked all round the room, courtesying 
to everybody and shaking hands, and telling them 
she had come to take French leave. To put an end 
to this ridiculous scene, Bromley Cheston (who had 
been on assiduous duty all the evening) now came 
forward, and, taking the old lady's arm in his, offered 
to escort her up stairs. Aunt Quimby was much 
flattered by this unexpected civility from the finest- 
looking young man ill the room, and she smilingly 
departed with him, complimenting him on his po- 
liteness, and assuring him that he wsa a real gentle- 
man, and trying also to mnke out the degree of rela- 
tionship that existed between them. 

"So much for Buckingham," said Cheston, as he 
ran down stairs after deposit!, g the old lady at the 
door of her room. " Fools of all ranks and of all 
ages are to me equally intolerable. I never can 
marry into such a family." 

The party went on. 

" In the name of heaven, Mrs. Potts," said Mrs. 
Montague, " what induces you to patronize these 

" Why, they are the only tolerable persons in the 
neighborhood," answered Mrs. Potts, " and very kind 
and obliging in their way. I really think Albiua a 
very sweet girl, very sweet, indeed ; and Mrs. Mars- 
den is rather aminble too, quite amiable. And they 
are so grateful for a ly little notice I take of them 
that it is really quite affecting. Poor things! how 
much trouble they have given themselves in getting 
up this party. They look as if they had had a hard 
day's work ; and I have no doubt they will be obliged 
in consequence to pinch themselves for months to 
come: for I can assure you their means are very 
Bmall, very small, indee 1. As to this intolerable old 
aunt, I never saw her before, and as there is some- 
thing rather genteel about Mrs. Marsden and her 
daughter — rather so, at least, about Albino — I did 
not suppose they had any such relations belonging 
to them. I think, in future, I must confine myself 
entirely to the aristocracy." 

" We deliberated to the last moment," said Mrs. 
Montague, " whether we would come. But as Mr. 
Montague is going to write his tour when we return 
to England, lie thinks it expedient to make some 
sacrifices for the sake of seeing the varieties of Ame- 
rican society." 

" Oh! these people are not in society," exclaimed 
Mrs. Potts, eagerly. " I can assure you these Mars- 
dens have not the slightest pretensions to society. 
Oh! no; I beg of you not to suppose that Mrs. 
Marsden and her daughters are at all in society." 


The family of Mr. Dana is one of the oldest and 
most honored in Massachusetts. The first of the 
name who came to America was Richard Dana, i n 
1640 ; he settled at Cambridge, where six genera- 
tions of the family have since resided. 

The poet's grandfather on this side of the house, 
Richard, was a patriot of the times preceding the 
Revolution, and known at the bar as an eminent 
lawyer. His son was Francis Dana the Minuter 
to Russia, and Chief Justice of the Supreme Court 
of Massachusetts, a man of honor, high personal 
sense of character, and of energetic eloquence. 
He married a daughter of William Ellery of Rhode 

Island, the signer of the Declaration of Independ- 
ence, by which union his son and the celebrated 
Dr. Channing were cousins. Judge Ellery onca 
described to his grandson, the poet, the aroused 
sen>e of honor which he witnessed in Francis 
Dana, in his rebuke of an impudent lawyer at the 
bar, who had charged him with an unfair manage- 
ment of the case. "In opening his reply to the 
jury," said Mr. Ellery, " he came down upon the 
creature; he did it in two or three minutes' time, 
and then dropped him altogether. I thought," 
added he, " I felt my hair rise and ttand upright 
on my head while he did it.'* 

On the mother's side Dana's family runs up to 
the early poetess Anne Bradstreet, the daughter 
of Governor Dudley. His grandfather Ellery 
married the daughter of Judge Remington, who 
had married the daughter of that quaint disciplo 
of Du Bartas. Dana's uncle, Judgj Edmund 
Trowbridge, also married one of the Dudley 


* The writer of the biographical notice of U. II. Dana, Jr., in 
Livingston's Sketches of Eminent American Lawyers (Part iv. 
1\ 2), thus characterizes the old school of Federalism to which 
Fraricis Dana belonged. 

'■lie possessed a large fortune for that day, chiefly in lands, 
and kept up. in his manner of life, the style of tin- olden time, 
which has almost parsed out of the memory of our degenerate 
age. He used to ride to court in his coach, and would have 
thought it undignified to tiavel the circuits unattended by his 
private servant. In politic he wns what wou'd i <»w be styled 
a high-toned Federalist of the old school— though the words 
imply far more than the mere adherence to certain political 
views, and siding whh a pill tieu'ar political party. They have 
a much broader -ig lification. The old Fedeial gentry of New 
England was chiellv composed of educated mon. who<e minds 
had been cultivated by the study of the e7niicnt English law- 
yers, and who still retained some of the fee'inL'S of their own 
immediate ancestors. It must be confessed that they looked 
upon themselves less as the representatives, than as the tem- 
poral guardians of the people. Th'-y endeavoured to pre erve 
what they conce'ved to be necessary distinctions In society, 
and in the municipal movement^ of <:ov ■rnnniit. They had a 
notion that the accidents of birth and education imposed upon 
them peculiar duties i-> the commonwealth— the duties of re- 
straining the mass of th* people bv the force of dignity, and 
e'evating them bv their examp'e. The honor of the st,at<\ the 
direction of its enemies, the regulation of its mnnncrs. the se- 
curity of its laws, and the solemnities of its religious observ 



Richard Henry Dana was born at Cambridge, 
November 15, 1787. "His early years were passed 
at Newport, in the midst of the associations of the 
Revolution and the enjoyments of the fine sea 
views and atmosphere of the spot. He entered 
Harvard, which he left in 1807. He studied law 
in the office of his cousin Francis Dana Channing, 
the eldest brother of Dr. Channing. After admis- 
sion to the Boston bar he spent about three 
months in the office of Robert Goodloe Harper at 
Baltimore, where he was admitted to practice. 
He returned home in 1811 and became a member 
of the legislature, where he found a better field 
for the exercise of his federal politics and opinions. 
His first literary public appearance was as an 
orator on the Fourth of July celebration of 1814. 

The North American Review was commenced 
in 1815. It grew out of an association of literary 
gentlemen composing the Anthology Club who 
for eight years, from 1803 to 1811, had published 
the miscellany entitled The Monthly Anthology. 
Dana was a member of the club. The fi*st editor 
of the Review was William Tudor, from whose 
hands it soon passed to the care of Willard Phillips, 
and then to the charge of an association of gentle- 
men for whom Mr. Sparks was the active editor. 
In 1818 Edward T. Cliannmg ( became editor of the 
Review, and associated with him his cousin Ri- 
chard II. Dana, who had left the law for the more 
congenial pursuits of literature.* 

When Channing was made Boylston professor 
of Rhetoric and Oratory at Harvard he resigned 
the editorship of the Review, and Dana, who was 
considered too unpopular to succeed him, left the 
club. Dana wrote in the period of two years five 
papers, one an essay on " Old Times," the others 
on literary topics, chiefiy poetical.t In 1824 Dana 
began the publication of The Idle Man, a peri- 
odical in which he communicated to the public 
his Tales and Essays. Six numbers of it were 
issued when it was discontinued ; the author ac- 
quiring the experience hitherto not uncommon in 
the higher American literature, that if he would 
write as a poet and philosopher, and publish as a 
gentleman, he must pay as well as compose. 

Bryant, with whom Dana had become ac- 
quainted in the conduct of the North American 
Review, was a contributor of several poems to the 
Idle Man ; and when this publication was discon- 
tinued Dana wrote for his journal, the New York 
Review of 1825, and afterwards the United States 
Review of 1820-7. In the latter he published ar- 

ances, -were committed to them. This was not confessedly, 
but pretty nearly in fact, their idea of their position and its 
consequent t , csponsibilities 1 ,, 

* Edward Tyrrel Channing was Professor of Rhetoric and 
Oratory in Harvard College from 1819 to 1S51, where the ex- 
actness of his instruction, his cultivated taste and highly disci- 
plined mental powers gave him an eminent reputation with his 
pupils. His editorship of the North American Review extended 
over the seventh, eighth, and ninth volumes in ISIS and 1819. 
The following are among his articles in the Review : On Tho- 
mas Moore and Lalla ltookh, vol. vi. : Rob Roy, vol. vii. ; 
Charles Brockden Browne's Life and Writings, vol. ix. ; Sou- 
they's Life of Cooper, vol. xliv. ; Prior's Life of Goldsmith, vol. 
xlv. ; Sir Richard Steele's Life and Writings, vol. xlvi. ; Lord 
Cheste 1 field's Letters to his Son, vol. 1. These papers show 
the author's refined culture and vigorous pen. Professor Chan- 
ning also wrote the life of his grandfather, William Ellery, in 
Sparks's American Biography, First Series, vol. vi. It is un- 
derstood that he is about sending to the press a volume of Lec- 
tures read to the classes in Cambridge. 

t Thev were -'Old Times," 1811. 'Allston's Sylph of the Sea- 
sons, 1817. Edgeworth's Readings on Poetry, 1818. Hazlitt's 
English Poets, 1619. The Sketch" Book, 1819. 

tides on Mrs. RadclifFe and the novels of Brockden 
Brown. From 1828 to 1831 he contributed four 
papers to The Spirit of the Pilgrims.* An Essay 
on The Past and the Present in the American 
Quarterly Observe'r for 1833 ; and another on Law 
as suited to Man, in the Biblical Repository for 
1835, conclude the list of our author's contribu- 
tions to periodical literature. 

The first volume of Dana's Poems, contain- 
ing The Buccaneer, was published in 1827. In 
1833 he published at Boston a volume of Poems 
and Prose Writings, reprinting his first volume 
with additions, and including his papers in the 
Idle Man. In 1839 he delivered a course of eight 
lectures on Shakespeare at Boston and New York, 
which he has subsequently repeated in those cities 
and delivered at Philadelphia and elsewhere. In 
1850 he published an edition of his writings in 
two volumes at New York, adding several essays 
and his review articles, with the exception of a 
notice of the historical romance of Yorktown, in 
Bryant's United States Review,! and the paper 
on Religious Controversy in the Spirit of the Pil- 

These are the last public incidents of Mr. Dana's 
literary career ; but in private the influence of his 
ta-.tes, conversation, and choice literary corres- 
pondence, embraces a liberal field of activity. He 
passes bis time between his town residence at 
Boston and his country retirement at Cape Ann, 

Mr. Dana's Residence. 

where he enjoys a roof of his own in a neat ma- 
rine villa, pleasantly situated in a niche of the 
rocky coast. Constant to the untiring love of 
nature, he is one of the first to seek this haunt in 
spring and the last to leave it in autumn. 

His writings possess kindred qualities in prose 
and verse ; thought and rhythm, speculation and 
imagination being borrowed by each from the 

The Buccaneer is a philosophical poem ; a tale 
of the heart and the conscience. The villany of 
the hero, though in remote perspective to the 
imagination, appeals on that account the more 
powerfully to our own consciousness. His re- 
morse is touched with consummate art as the rude 

* On Pollok's Course of Time, 1628. Pamphlets on Contro- 
versy, 1829. Natural History of Enthusiasm, 1830. Henry 
Martyn. 1881. 

t January, 182T. t "• 198. 



hard earthy nature steps into the region of the 
supernatural, and with unchanged rigidity em- 
braces its new terrors. The machinery is at onoe 
objective and spiritual in the vision of the horse. 
The story is opened by glimpses to the reader in the 
only way in which modern art can attain, with cul- 
tivated minds, the effect of the old ballad directness. 
The visionary horror is relieved by simple touches 
of human feeling and sweet images, at in the 
opening, of the lovely, peaceful scenes of nature. 
The remaining poems are divided between the 
description of nature and a certain philosophical 
vein of thought which rises into the loftiest spe- 
culative region of religion, and is never long with- 
out indication-) of a pathetic sense of human life. 

The prose of Dana has similar characteristics to 
his verse. It is close, elaborate, truthful in ety- 
mology ; and, with a seeming plainness, musical 
in its expres>ion. There is a rare use of figures, 
but when they occur they will be found inwrought 
with the life of the text; no. sham or filigree 

In the tales of Tom Thornton and Paul Felton 
there is much imaginative power in placing the 
mind on the extreme limits of sanity, under the in- 
fluence of painful and engrossing passion. The 
story of the lovers, Edward and Mary, has its 
idyllic graces of the affections. In these writings 
the genius of our author is essentially dramatic. 

The critical and philosophical essays, embracing 
the subtle and elaborate studies of human life in 
Shakespeare, show great skill in discrimination, 
guided by a certain logic of the heart and life, and 
not by mere artificial dialectics. They are not so 
much literary exercises as revelations of, and 
guides to character. This character is founded 
on calm reverence, a sleepless love of truth, a 
high sense of honor, and of individual worth. 
With these conditions are allied strong imagina- 
tion, reaching to the ideal in art and virtue, and 
a corresponding sympathy with the humanity 
which falls short of it in life. 


Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea. 
Why takest thou its melancholy voice? 
And with that boding cry 
Along the waves dost thou fly ? 
0! rather, Bird with me 

Through the fair land rejoice ! 

Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and pale, 
As driven by a beating storm at sea; 
Thy cry is weak and scared, 
As if thy mates had shared 
The doom of us : Thy wail — 
What does it bring to me ? 

Thou call'st along the sand, and haunt'st the Burge, 
Restless and sad ; as if. in strange accord 
With the motion and the roar 
Of waves that drive to shore, 
One spirit did ye urge — ■ 
The Mystery— The Word. 


Of the thousands, thou, both sepulchre and pall, 
Old Ocean, art I A requiem o'er the dead, 
From out thy gloomy cells 
A tale of mourning tells — 

Tells of man's woe and fall, 
His sinless glory fled. 

Then turn thee, little bird, and take thy flight 
Where the complaining sea shall sadness bring 
Thy spirit never more. 
Come, quit with me the shore, 
For gladness and the light 
Where birds of summer sing. 


And do our loves all perish with our frames? 
Do those that took their root and put forth buds, 
And their soft leaves unfolded in the warmth 
Of mutual hearts, grow up and live in beauty, 
Then fade and fall, like fair, unconscious flowers? 
Are thoughts and passions that to the tongue give 

And make it send forth winning harmonies, — 
That to the cheek do give its living glow, 
And vision in the eye the soul intense 
With that for which there is no utterance — 
Are these the body's accidents? — no more? — 
To live in it, and when that dies, go out 
Like the burnt taper's flame ? 

0, listen, man I 
A voice within us speaks the startling word, 
" Man, thou shalt never die!" Celestial voices 
Hymn it around our souls : according harps, 
By angel fingers touched when the mild stars 
Of morning sang together, sound forth still 
The song of our great immortality : 
Thick clustering orbs, and this our fair domain, 
The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas, 
Join in this solemn, universal song. 
— 0, listen ye, our spirits ; drink it in 
From all the air ! 'Tis in the gentle moonlight ; 
T is floating in day's setting glories ; Night, 
Wrapt in her sable robe, with silent step 
Comes to our bed and breathes it in our ears: 
Night, and the dawn, bright day, and thoughtful eve, 
All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse, 
As one vast mystic instrument, are touched 
By an unseen, living Hand, the conscious chords 
Quiver with joy in this great jubilee : 
— The dying hear it; and as sounds of earth 
Grow dull and distant, w.-ike their passing souls 
To mingle in this heavenly harmony. 


Boy with thy btac berd, 
1 rede that thou blin, 
And sone set the to shrive, 
With sorrow of thi syn ; 

Zi> met with the merchandes 
And made them fill bare; 
It es plide reason and right 
That ze evill misfaro. 

For when ze stode in sowre strenkith, 
Ze war all to stout. 

Laurence Mimot. 

The island lies nine leagues away. 

Along its solitary shore, 

Of craggy rock and sandy bay, 

No sound but ocean's roar, 
Save where the bold, wild sea-bird makes her home, 
Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam. 

But when the light winds lie at rest, 

And on the glassy, heaving sea, 

The black duck, with her glossy breast, 

Sits swinging silently, — 
How beautiful! no ripples break the reach, 
And silvery waves go noiseless up the beach. 



And inland rests the green, -warm de]l ; 

Tlie b:ook comes tinkling down its side; 

From out tlie trees the Sabbath bell 

Ri. gs cheerful, far and wide, 
Mingling its sound with bleatings of the flocks, 
That feed about the vale among the rocks. 

Kor holy bell, nor pastoral bleat, 

In former days within the vale ; 

Flapped in the bay the'pirate's sheet; 

Curses were on the gale ; 
Rich goods lay on the sand, and murdered men ; 
Pirate and wrecker kept their revels then. 

But calm, low voices, "words of grace, 

ftow slowly fall upon the ear; 

A quiet look is in each face, 

Subdued and holy fear ; 
Each motion gentle ; all is kindly done.— 
Come, listen how from crime the isle was won. 

Twelve years are gone since.Matthew Lee 

Held in this isle unquestioned sway; 

A dark, low, brawny man was he ; 

His l.iw, — " It is my way." 
Beneath his thick-set brows a sharp light broke 
From small gray r eyes; his laugh a triumph spoke. 

Cruel of heart, and strong of arm, 

Loud in his sport, and keen for spoil, 

lie little recked of good or harm, 

1 ierce both in mirth and toil; 
Yet like a dog could fawn, if need there were; 
Speak mildly, when he would, or look iu fear. 

Amid the uproar of the storm, 
And by the lightning's sharp, red glare, 
"Were seen Lee's face and sturdy form ; 
His axe glanced quick in air. 

"Whose corpse at morn lies swinging in the sedge? 

There's blood and hair, Matt, on thy axe's edge. 

" Ask him who floats there ; let him tell ; 

I make the brute, not man, my mark. 

AVho walks the cliffs, needs heed him well! 

Last night was fearful dark. 
Think ye the lashing waves will spare or feel? 
An ugly gash ! — These rocks — they cut like steeL" 

He wiped his axe; and turning round, 
Said with a cold and hardened smile, 
"Tlie hemp is saved ; the man is drowned. 
We'll let him float awhile ? 

Or give him Christian burial on the strand? 

He'll find his fellows peaceful under sand." 

Lee's waste was greater than his gain. 
" I'll try the merchant's trade," he thought, 
"Though less the toil to kill than feign, — 
Things sweeter robbed than bought. 
But, then, to circumvent them at their arts !" 
Ship manned, and spoils for cargo, Lee departs. 

'Tis fearful, on the broad-backed waves, 
To feel them shake, and hear them roar : 
Beneath, unsounded, dreadful caveB; 
Around, no cheerful shore. 

Yet 'mid this solemn world what deeds are done! 

The curse goes up, the deadly sea-fight's won: — 

And wanton talk, and laughter heard, 
Where sounds a deep and awful voice. 
There's awe from that lone ocean-bird : 
Pray ye, when ye rejoice ! 
" Leave prayers to priests," cries Lee : " I'm ruler 

These fellows know full well whom they should 
fear !" 

The ship works hard ; the seas run high ; 

Their white tops, flushing through the night, 

Give to the eager, straining eye 

A wild and shitting light. 
" Hard at the pumps ! — The leak is gaining fast ! 
Lighten the ship!— The devil rode that blast!" 

Ocean has swallowed for its food 

Spoils thou didst gain in murderous glee ; 

Matt, could its waters wash out blood, 

It had been well for thee. 
Crime fits for crime. And no repentant tear 
Hast thou for sin ? — Then wait thine hour of fear. 

The sea has like a plaything tost 

That heavy hull the livelong night. 

The man of sin, — he is not lost: 

Soft bieaks the morning light. 
Torn spars and sails, — her lading in tlie deep, — 
The ship makes port with slow and labouring sweep. 

Within a Spanish port she rides. 

Angry and soured, Lee walks her deck. 
"So, peaceful trade a curse betides? — 

And thou, good ship, a wreck ! 
Ill luck in chai ge! — Ho! cheer ye up, my men! 
Rigged, and at sea, and then, old work again!" 

A sound is in the Pyrenees! 

Whirling and dark conies roaring down 

A tide as of a thousand seas, 

Sweepii g both cowl and crown : 
On field and vineyard, thick and red it stood ; 
Spain's streets and palaces are wet with blood. 

And wrath and terror shake the hind : 

The [teaks shine clear in w.-itchfire lights; 

Soon comes the tread of that stout baud, — 

Bold Arthur and his knights. 
Awake ye, Merlin ! Hear the shout from Spain ! 
The spell is broke! — Arthur is come again ! — 

Too late for thee, thou young, fair bride! 

The lips are cold, the brow is pale. 

That thou didst kiss iu love and pride ; 

He cannot hear thy wail, 
Whom thou didst lull with fondly murmured sound' 
His couch is cold and lonely in the ground. 

He fell for Spain,— her Spnin no more ; 

For he was gone who made it dear ; 

And she would seek some distant shore, 

Away from strife and fear, 
And wait amid her sorrows till the day 
His voice of love should caliber thence away. 

Lee feigned him grieved, and bowed him low, 

'Twould joy his heart, could he but aid 

So good a lady in her woe, 

He meekly, smoothly said. 
With wealth and servants she is soon aboard. 
And that white 6teed she rode beside her lord. 

Tlie sun goes down upon the sea ; 

The shadows gather round her home. 
" How like a pall are ye to me ! 

My home, how like a tomb ! 
O, blow, ye flowers of Spain, above his head! 
Ye will not blow o'er me when I am dead." 

And now the stars are burning bright; 

Yet still she's looking toward the shore 

Beyond the waters black in night. 
" I ne'er shall see thee more ! 
Ye're many, waves, yet lonely seems your flow ; 
And I'm aione, — scarce know I where I go." 

Sleep, sleep, thou sail one on the sea ! . 
The wash of waters lulls thee now ; 



His arm no more will pillow thee, 

Thy fingers on his brow. 
He is not near, to hush thee, or to save. 
The ground is his, the sea must be thy grave. 

The moon comes up ; the night goes on. 

Why, in the shadow of the mast, 

Stands that dark, thoughtful man alone? 

Thy pledge! — nay, keep it fast! 
Bethink thee of her youth, and sorrows, Lee ; 
Helpless, alone, — and, then, her trust in thee. 

When told the hardships thou hadst borne, 

Her words to thee were like a charm. 

With uncheered grief her heart is worn ; 

Thou wilt not do her harm? 
He looks out on the sea that sleeps in light, 
And growls an oath, — " It is too still to-night !" 

He sleeps ; but dreams of massy gold 

And heaps of pearl, — stretches his hands; 

But hears a voice, — " 111 man, withhold!" 

A pale one near him stands. 
Her breath comes deathly cold upon his cheek ; 
Her touch is cold; he hears a piercing shriek; — 

He wakes ! — But no relentings wake 

Within his angered, restless soul. 
"What, shall a dream Matt's purpose shake? 

The gold will make all whole. 
Thy merchant trade had nigh unmanned thee, lad! 
What, balk my chance because a woman's sad !" 

He cannot look on her mild eye ; 

Her patient words his spirit quelL 

Within that evil heart there lie 

The hates and fears of hell. 
His speech is short ; he wears a surly brow. 
There's none will hear the shriek. What fear ye 
now ? 

The workings of the soul ye fear ; 

Ye fear the power that goodness hath ; 

Ye fear the Unseen One ever near, 

Walking his ocean path. 
From out the silent void there eomes a cry, — 
" Vengeance is mine ! Thou, murderer, too, shalt 

Nor dread of ever-during woe, 

Nor the sea's awful solitude, 

Can make thee, wretch, thy crime forego. 

Then, bloody hand, — to blood ! 
The scud is driving wildly overhead ; 
The stars burn dim ; the ocean moans its dead. 

Moan for the living; moan our sins, — 

The wrath of man more fierce than thine. 

Hark ! still thy waves! — The work begins,— 

Lee makes the deadly sign. 
The crew glide down like shadows. Eye and hand 
Speak fearful meanings through the silent band. 

They're gone. — The helmsman stands alone; 

And one leans idly o'er the bow. 

Still as a tomb the ship keeps on ; 

Nor sound nor stirring now. 
Hush, hark ! as from the centre of the deep, 
Shrieks, fiendish yells! They stab them in their 
sleep ! 

The scream of rage, the groan, the strife, 
The blow, the gasp, the horrid cry, 
The panting throttled prayer for life, 
The dying's heaving sigh, 
The murderer's curse, the dead man's fixed, still 

And fear's and death's cold sweat, — they all are 

On pale, dead men, on burning cheek, 
On quick, fierce eyes, brows hot and damp, 
On hands that with the .warm blood reek, 
Shines the dim cabin lamp. 

Lee looked. " They sleep so sound," he laughing, 

" They'll scarcely wake for mistress or for maid." 

A crash 1 They force the door, — and then 
One long, long, shrill, and piercing scream 
Comes thrilling 'bove the growl of men. 
'Tis hers ! O God, redeem 

From worse than death thy suffering, helpless child! 

That dreadful shriek again, — sharp, sharp, and wild ! 

It ceased. — With speed o' th' lightning's flash, 
A loose-robed form, with streaming hair, 
Shoots by. — A leap, — a quick, short splash! 
'Tis gone ! — and nothing there ! 

The waves have swept away the bubbling tide. 

Bright-crested waves, how calmly on they ridel 

She's sleeping in her silent cave, 
Nor he.-irs the loud, stern roar above, 
Nor strife of man on land or wave. 
Young thing! her home of love 

She soon has reached! Fair, unpolluted thing! 

They harmed her not ! — Was dying suffering ? 

no ! — To live when joy was dead, 
To go with one lone, pining thought, 
To mournful love her bei: g wed, 
Feeling what death hail wrought; 

To live the child of woe, nor shed a tear, 
Bear kindness, and yet share not joy or fear; 

To look on man, and deem it strange 
That he on things of earth should brood, 
When all the thronged and busy range 
To her was solitude, — 
0, this was bitterness! Death came and pressed 
Her wearied lids, and brought the sick heart rest. 

Why look ye on each other so, 

And speak no word ? — Ay, shake the head ! 

She's gone where ye can never go. 

What fear ye from the dead ? 
They tell no tales ; and ye are all true men ; — 
But wash away that blood ; then, home again! 

'Tis on your souls ; it will not out ! 

Lee, why so lost ? 'Tis not like thee ! 

Come, where thy revel, oath, and shout? 
" That pale one in the sea ! — ■ 
I mind not blood. — But she, — I cannot tell ! 
A spirit was't? — It flashed like fires of hell! 

" And when it passed there was no tread! 
It leaped the deck. — Who heard the sound? 

1 heard none ! — Say, what was it fled ? 
Poor girl ! and is she drowned? — 

Went down these depths ? How dark they look, and 

cold ! 
She's yonder! stop her! — Now! — there! — hold her! 


They gaze upon his ghastly face. 
" What ails thee, Lee? and why that glare?" 
" Look ! ha ! 'tis gone, and not a trace ! 
No, no, she was not there! — 
Who of you said ye heard. her when she fell? 
'Twas strange ! — I'll not be fooled ! — Will no one 
tell ?" 

He paused. And soon the wildness passed. 

Then eame the tingling flush of shame. 

Remorse and fear are gone as fast. 
" The silly thing's to blame 
To quit us so. 'Tis plain she loved us not ; 
Or she had stayed awhile, and shared my cot." 



And then the ribald laughed. The jest, 

Though old and foul, loud laughter drew ; 

And fouler yet came from the rest 

Of that infernal crew. 
Note, Heaven, their blasphemy, their broken trust I 
Lust panders murder: murder panders lust I 

Now slowly up they bring the dead 

From out the silent, dim-lit room. 

No prayer at their quick burial said ; 

No friend to weep their doom. 
The hungry waves have seized them one by one ; 
And, swallowing down their prey, go roaring on. 

Cries Lee, " We must not be betrayed ; 

'Tis but to add another corse ! 

Strange words, we're told, an ass once brayed : 

I'll never trust a horse! 
Out! throw him on the waves alive ! — he'll swim; 
For once a horse shall ride ; we all ride him." 

Such sound to mortal ear ne'er came 

As rang far o'er the waters wide. 

It shook with fear the stoutest frame: 

The horse is on the tide ! 
As the waves leave, or lift him up, his cry 
Comes lower now, and now is near and high. 

And through the swift waves' yesty crown 
His scared eyes shoot a fiendish light, 
And fear seems wrath. He now sinks down, 
Now heaves again to sight, 
Then drifts away ; and through the night they hear 
Far off that dreadful cry. — But morn is near. 

0, hadst thou known what deeds were done, 

When thou wast shining far away, 

Wouldst thou let fall, calm-coming sun, 

Thy warm and silent ray ? 
The good are in their graves ; thou canst not cheer 
Their dark, cold mansions: Sin alone is here. 

"The deed's complete! The gold is ours! 

There, wash away that bloody stain ! 

Pray, who'd refuse what fortune showers? 

Now, lads, we lot our gain 1 
Must fairly share, you know, what's fairly got? 
A truly good night's work ! Who says 'twas not?" 

There's song, and oath, and gaming deep, 
Hot words, and laughter, mad carouse ; 
There's naught of prayer, and little sleep ; 
The devil keeps the house ! 
" Lee cheats!" cried Jack. Lee struck him to the 

" That's foul !" one muttered. — " Fool ! you take 
your part ! 

"The fewer heirs, the richer, man! 

Hold fortli your palm, and keep your prate ! 

Our life, we read, is but a span. 

What matters soon or late V 
And when on shore, and asked, Did many die? 
"Near half* my crew, poor lads!" he'd say, and sigh. 

Within the bay, one stormy night, 

The isle-men saw boats make for shore, 

With here and there a dancing light, 

That flashed on man and oar. 
When hailed, the rowing stopped, and all was dark. 
"Ha! lantern-work! — We'll home! They're play- 
ing shark !" 

Next day at noon, 'within the town, 
AH stare and wonder much to see 
Matt and his men come strolling down ; 
Boys shouting, " Here comes Lee !" 
" Thy ship, good Lee ?" " Not many leagues from 

Our ship by chance took fire." — They learned no 

He and his crew were flush of gold. 
" You did not lose your cargo, then ?" 
" Where all is fairly bought and sold, 
Heaven prospers those true men. 
Forsake your evil ways, as we forsook 
Onr ways of sin, and honest courses took! 

" Would see my log-book ? Fairly writ, 

With pen of steel, and ink of blood I 

How lightly doth the conscience sit ! 

Learn, truth's the only good." 

And thus, with flout, and cold and impious jeer, 

He fled repentance, if he scaped not fear. 

Remorse and fear he drowns in drink. 
" Come, pass the bowl, my jolly crew ! 

It thicks the blood to mope and think. 

Here's merry days, though few !" 
And then he quaffs. — So riot reigns within ; 
So brawl and laughter shake that house of sin. 

Matt lords it now throughout the isle ; 
His hand falls heavier than before ; 
All dread alike his frown or smile. 
None come within his door, 
Save those who dipped their hands in blood with 

him ; 
Save those who laughed to see the white horse 

" To-night's our anniversary ; 

And, mind me, lads, we have it kept 

With royal state and special glee I 

Better with those who slept 
Their sleep that night would he be now, who slink' ! 
And health and wealth to him who bravely drinks!" 

The words they speak, we may not speak; 

The tales they tell, we may not tell. 

Mere mortal man, forbear to seek 

The secrets of that hell ! 
Their shouts grow loud. 'Tis nearmid-hour of night ! 
What means upon the waters that red light ? 

Not bigger than a star it seems. 

And now 'tis like the bloody moon, 

And now it shoots in hairy streams ! 

It moves ! — 'Twill reach us soon ? 
A ship! and all on fire! — hull, yard, and mast! 
Her sails are sheets of flame ! — she's nearing fast ! 

And now she rides upright and still, 

Shedding a wild and lurid light, 

Around the cove, on inland hill, 

Waking the gloom of night. 
All breathes of terror! men, in dumb amaze, 
Gaze on each other in the horrid blaze. 

It scares the sea-birds from their nests ; 

They dart and wheel with deafening screams ; 

Now dark, — and now their wings and breasts 

Flash back disastrous gleams. 
Fair Light, thy looks strange alteration wear; — 
The world's great comforter, — why now its fear? 

And what comes up above the wave, 

So ghastly white? A spectral head ! 

A horse's head ! (May Heaven save 

Those looking on the dead, — 
The waking dead!) There, on the sea he stands, — 
The Spectre-Horse ! He moves! he gains the sands; 

And on he speeds! His ghostly sides 

Are streaming with a cold blue light. 

Heaven keep the wits of him who rides 

The Spectre-Horse to-night! 
His path is shining like a swift ship's wake. 
Before Lee's door he gleams like day's gray break 

The revel now is high within ; 
It bursts upon the midnight air 



They little think, in mirth and din, 

What spirit waits them there. 
As if the sky became a voice, there spread 
A sound to appal the living, stir the dead. 

The Spirit steed sent up the neigh ; 

It seemed the living trump of hell, 

Sounding to call the damned away, 

To join the host that fell. 
It rang along the vaulted sky : the shore 
Jarred hard, as when the thronging surges roar. 

It rang in ears that knew the sound ; 

And hot, flushed cheeks are blanched with fear. 

Ha ! why does Lee look wildly round ? 

Thinks lie the drowned horse near ? 
He drops his cup, — his lips are stiff with fright. 
Nay, sit thee down, — it is thy banquet night. 

" I cannot sit ; — I needs must go : 

The spell is on my spirit now. 

I go to dread, — I go to woe !" 

0, who so weak as thou, 
Strong man ! His hoofs upon the door-stone, see, 
The Shadow stands ! His eyes arc on thee, Lee I 

Thy hair pricks up ! — " 0, I must bear 

His damp, cold breath! It chills my frame! 

His eyes, — their near and dreadful glare 

Speaks that I must not name!'" 
Art mad to mount that Horse! — " A power within, 
I must obey, cries, ' Mount thee, man of sin !' " 

He's now upon the Spectre's back, 

With rein of silk and curb of gold. 

'Tis fearful speed ! — the rein is slack 

Within his senseless hold ; 
Borne by an unseen power, right on he rides, 
Yet touches not the Shadow-Beast he strides. 

He goes with speed ; he goes with dread ! 

And now they're on the hanging steep ! 

And, now, the living and the dead, 

They'll make the horrid leap ! 
The Horse stops short, — his feet are on the verge 1 
He stands, like marble, high above the surge. 

And nigh, the tall ship's burning on. 

With red hot spars, and crackling flame ; 

From hull to gallant, nothing's gone; — 

She burns, and yet's the same ! 
Her hot, red flame is beating, all the night, 
On man and Horse, in their cold, phosphor light. 

Through that cold light the fearful man 

Sits looking on the burning ship. 

Wilt ever rail again, or ban? 

How fast lie moves the lip ! 
And yet he does not speak, or make a sound ! 
AVhat see you, Lee ? the bodies of the drowned? 

" I look, where mortal man may not, — 
Down to the chambers of the deep. 
I see the dead, long, long forgot; 
I see them in their sleep. 
A dreadful power is mine, which none can know, 
Save he who leagues his soul with death and woe." 

Thou mild, sad mother, silent moon, 

Thy last low, melancholy ray 

Shines towards him. Quit him not so soon ! 

Mother, ia mercy, stay ! 
Despair and death are with him ; and canst thou, 
With that kind, earthward look, go leave him now ? 

0, thou wast born for worlds of love ; 

Making more lovely itt thy shine 

Whate'er thou look'st on : hosts above, 

In that soft light of thine, 
Burn softer ; earth, in silvery veil, seems heaven. 
Thou'rt going down ! — hast left hini unforgiven I 

The fir, low west is bright no more. 

How still it is ! No sound is heard 

At sea, or all along the shore, 

But cry of passing bird. 
Thou living thing, — and dar'st thou come so near 
These wild and ghastly shapes of death and fear ? 

And long that thick, red light has shone 
On stern, dark rocks, and deep, still bay, 
On man and Horse that seem of stone, 
So motionless are they. 
But now its lurid fire less fiercely burns : 
The night is going, — faint, gray dawn returns. 

That Spectre-Steed now slowly pales, 

Now changes like the moonlit cloud ; 

That cold, thin light now slowly fails, 

Which wrapt them like a shroud. 
Both ship and Horse are fading into air. 
Lost, mazed, alone, see, Lee is standing there I 

The morning air blows fresh on him ; 

The waves are dancing in his sight ; 

The sea-birds call, and wheel, and skim, 

O blessed morning light ! 
He doth not hear their joyous call ; he sees 
No beauty in the wave, nor feels the breeze. 

For he's accursed from all that's good ; 

He ne'er must know its healing power. 

The sinner on his sin shall brood, 

And wait, alone, his hour. 
A stranger to earth's beauty, human love, — 
No rest below for him, no hope above! 

The sun beats hot upon his head. 

He stands beneath the broad, fierce blaze, 

As stiff and cold as one that's dead: 

A troubled, dreamy maze 
Of some unearthly horror, all he knows, — 
Of some wild horror past, and coining woes. 

Tne gull lias found her place on shore ; 

The sun gone down again to rest ; 

And all is still but ocean's roar: 

There 'stands the man u ablest. 
But, see, he moves, — he turns, as asking where 
His mates: — -Why looks he with that piteous stare? 

Go, get ye home, and end your mirth! 

Go, call the revellers again ; 

They're fled the isle ; and o'er the earth 

Are wanderers, like Cain. 
As he his door-stone passed, the air blew chill. 
The wine is on the board ; Lee, take your fill ! 

" There's none to meet me, none to cheer : 
The scats are empty, — lights burnt out; 
And I, alone, must sit me here : 
Would I could hear their shout !" 

He ne'er shall hear it more. — more taste his wine! 

Silent he sits within the still moonshine. 

Day came again; and up he rose, 

A weary man, from his lone board ; 

Nor merry feast, nor sweet repose, 

Did that long night afford. 
No shadowy-coming night, to bring him rest, — 
No dawn, to chase the darkness of his breast! 

no walks within the day's full glare, 
A darkened man. Where'er he comes, 
All shun him. Children peep and stare ; 
Then, frightened, seek their homes. 

Through all the crowd a thrilling horror ran. 

They point and say, — " There goes the wicked man !" 

He turns, and curses in his wrath 
Both man and child; then hastes away 
Shoreward, or takes some gloomy path ; 
But there he cannot stay : 



Terror and madness drive him back to men ; 
His hate- of man to solitude again. 

Time passes on, and he grows bold ; 

His eye is fierce ; his oaths are loud ; 

None dare from Lee the hand withhold ; 

He rules and scoffs the crowd. 
But still at heart there lies a secret fear ; 
For now the year's dread round is drawing near. 

He laughs, but he is sick at heart ; 

Hs swears, but he turns deadly pale ; 

His restless eye and sudden start, — 

They tell the dreadful tale 
That will be told : it needs no words from thee. 
Thou self-sold slave to fear and misery. 

Bond-slave of sin ! again the light! 
" Ha ! take me, take me from its blaze !" 

Kay, thou must ride the Steed to-nightl 

But other weary days 
And nights must shine and darken o'er thy head, 
Ere thou shalt go with him to meet the dead. 

Again the ship lights all the land ; 

Again Lee strides the Spectre-Beast; 

Again upon the cliff they stand. 

This once is he released ! — 
Gone ship and Horse ; but Lee's last hope is o'er ; 
Nor laugh, nor scoff, nor rage, can help him more. 

His spirit heard that Spirit say, 
" Listen ! — I twice have come to thee. 

Once more, — and then a dreadful way 1 

And thou must go with me!" 
Ay, cling to earth as sailor to the rock ! 
Sea-swept, sucked down in the tremendous shock, 

He goes! — So thou must loose thy hold, 

And go with Death ; nor breathe the balm 

Of early air, nor light behold, 

Nor sit thee in the calm 
Of gentle thoughts, where good men wait their close. 
In life, or death, where look'st thou for repose ? 

Who's sitting on that long, black ledge, 
Which makes so far out in the sea, 
Feeling the kelp-weed on its edge? 
Poor, idle Matthew Lee ! 
So weak and pale ? A year and little more, 
And bravely did he lord it round the shore. 

And on the shingle now he sits, 

And rolls the pebbles 'neath his hands ; 

Now walks the beach ; now stops by fits, 

And scores the smooth, wet sands; 
Then tries each cliff, and cove, and jut, that bounds 
The isle ; then home from many weary rounds. 

They ask him why he wanders so, 
From day to day, the uneven strand? 
" I wish, I wish that I might go! 
But I would go by land ; 
And there's no way that I can find; I've tried 
All day and night !" — He seaward looked, and sighed. 

It brought the tenr to many an eye, 
That, once, his eye had made to quail. 
" Lee, go with us ; our sloop is nigh ; 
Come ! help us hoist her sail" 

He shook. — " You know the Spirit-Horse I ride ! 

He'll let me on the sea with none beside !" 

,He views the ships that come and go, 
Looking so like to living things. 
! 'tis a proud and gallant show 
Of bright and broad-spread wings, 
Making it light around them, as they keep 
Their course right onward through the unsounded 

And where the far-off sand-bar3 lift 
Their backs in long and narrow line. 
The breakers shout, and leap, and shift, 
And toss the sparkling brine 
Into the air; then rush to mimic strife : 
Glad creatures of the sea, and full of life ! — 

But not to Lee. He sits alone ; 

No fellowship nor joy for him ; 

Borne down by woe, — but not a moan, — 

Though tears will sometimes dim 
That asking eye. 0, how his worn thoughts crave — 
Not joy again, but rest within the grave. 

The rocks are dripping in the niist 

That lies so heavy off the shore ; 

Seaive seen the running breakers ; — list 

Thei • dull and smothered roar ! 
Lee hearkens to their voice. — " I hear, I hear 
You call. — Not yet ! — I know my time is near !" 

And now the mist seems taking shape, 

Forming a dim gigantic ghost, — 

Enormous thing ! There's no escape ; 

'Tis close upon the coast. 
Lee kneels, but cannot pray. — Why mock him sol 
The ship has cleared the fog, Lee, see her go. 

A sweet, low voice,, in starry nights, 

Chants to his ear a plaining song ; 

Its tones come winding up tlie heights, 

Telling of woe and wrong ; 
And he must listen till the 6tars grow dim, 
The song that gentle voice doth sing to him. 

0, it is sad that aught so mild • 

Should bind the soul with bands of fear; 

That strains to soothe a little child, 

The man should dread to hear. 
But sin hn{h broke the world's sweet peace, — un- 
The harmonious chords to which the angels sung. 

In thick dark nights he'd take his seat 

High up the cliffs, and feel them shake, 

As swung the sea with heavy beat 

Below, — and hear it break 
With savage roar, then pause and gather strength, 
And, then, come tumbling in its swollen length. 

But he no more shall haunt the beach, 

Nor sit upon the tall cliff's crown, 

Nor go the round of all that reach, 

Nor feebly sit him down, 
Watching the swaying weeds: — another day, 
And he'll have gone far hence that dreadful way. 

To-night the charmed number's told. 
" Twice have I come for thee," it said. 
" Once more, and none shall thee behold. 
Come! live one! — to the dead." — 
So hears his soul, and fears the gathering night; 
Yet sick and weary of the soft, calm light. 

Again he sits in that still room ; 

All day he leans at that still board ; 

None to bring comfort to his gloom, 

Or speak a friendly word. 
Weakened with fear, lone, haunted by remorse, 
Poor, shattered wretch, there waits he that pale 

Not long he waits. Where now are gone 
Peak, citadel, and tower, that stood 
Beautiful, while the west sun shone, 
And bathed them in his flood 

Of airy glory ? — Sudden darkness fell ; 

And down they went, peak, tower, citadel. 

The darkness, like a dome of stone, 

Ceils up the heavens. 'Tis hush as death, — 



All but the ocean's dull, low moan. 

How hard he draws his breath ! 
He shudders as he feels the working Power. 
Arouse thee, Lee I up 1 man thee for thine hour ! 

'Tis close at hand ; for there, once more, 
The burning ship. Wide sheets of flame 
And shafted fire she showed before ; — 
Twice thus she hither came ; — ■ 
But now she rolls a naked hulk, and throws 
A wasting light; then settling, down she goes. 

And where she sank, up slowly came 

The Spectre-Horse from out the sea. 

And there he stands ! His pale sides flame. 

He'll meet thee, shortly, Lee. 
He treads the waters as a solid floor ; 
He's moving on. Lee waits him at the door. 

They're met. — " I know thou com'st for me," 

Lee's spirit to the Spectre said ; 
" 1 know that I must go with thee: 

Take me not to the dead. 
It was not I alone that did the deed !" — 
Dreadful the eye of that still, Spectral Steed I 

Lee cannot turn. There is a force 
In that fixed eye, which holds him fast. 
How still they stand, — the man and Horse! 
"Thine Hour is almost past." 
" 0, spare me," cries the wretch, " thou fearful One !" 
" The time is come, — I must nut go alone." 

" I'm weak and faint. 0, let me stay !" 

"Nay, murderer, rest nor stay for thee!" 

The Horse and man are on their way ; 

He bears him to the sea. 

Hard breathes the Spectre through the silent night ; 

Fierce from his nostrils streams a deathly light. 

He's on the beach ; but stops not there; 

He's on the sea, — that dreadful Horse ! 

Lee flings and writhes in wild despair. 

In vain ! The Spirit-Corse 
nobis him by fearful spell ; he cannot leap; 
Within that horrid light he rides the deep. 

It lights the sea around their track, — 
The curling comb, and steel-dark wave: 
And there sits Lee the Spectre's back; 
Gone! gone! and none to saved 

They're seen no more; the night has shut them in. 

May heaven have pity on thee, man of sin! 

The earth has washed away its stain; 
The sealed-up sky is breaking forth, 
Mustering its glorious hosts again, 
From the far south and north ; 

The climbing moon plays on the rippling sea. 

— 0, whither on its waters rideth Lee? 


It has been so common a saying, that Lear is the 
most difficult of characters to personate that we 
had taken it for granted no man could play it so us 
to satisfy us. Perhaps it is the hardest to represent. 
Yet the part which has generally been supposed the 
most difficult, the insanity of Lear, is scarcely more 
so than that of the choleric old king. Inefficient rage 
is almost always ridiculous ; anil an old man, witli a 
broken-down bo ly and a mind falling in pieces from 
the violence of "its uncontrolled passions, is in con- 
stant danger of exciting, along with our pity, a feel- 
ing of contempt. It is a chance matter to which we 
may be most move 1. And this it is which makes 
the opening of Lear so difficult. 

"We may as well notice here the objection which 
some make to the abrupt violence with which Kean 

VOL. II. — 7 

begins in Lear. If this be a fault, it is Shakespeare, 
and not Kean, who is to blame; for, no doubt, he 
has conceived it according to his author. Perhaps, 
however, the mistake lies in this case, where it does 
in most others, with whose who put themselves into 
the seat of judgment to pass upon great men. 

In most instances, Shakespeare has given us the 
gradual growth of a passion, with such little accom- 
paniments as agree with it, and go to make up the 
whole man. In Lear, his object being to represent 
the beginning and course of insanity, he has properly 
enough gone but a little back of it, and introduced 
to us an old man of good feelings enough, but one 
who had lived without any true principle of conduct, 
and whose unruled passions had grown strong with 
age, and were ready, upon a disappointment, to 
make shipwreck of an intellect never strong. To 
bring this about, he begins with an abruptness 
rather unusual; and the old king rushes in before 
us, with his passions at their height, and tearing him 
like fiends. 

Kean gives this as soon as the fitting occasion offers 
itself. Had he put more of melancholy and depres- 
sion, and less of rage into the character, we should 
have been much puzzled at his so suddenly going 
mad. It would have required the change to have 
been slower; and besides, Ins insanity must have been 
of another kind. It must have been monotonous 
and complaining, instead of continually varying ; 
at oue time full of grief, at another playful, and 
then wild as the winds that roared about him, and 
fiery and sharp as the lightning that shot by him. 
The truth with which he conceived this was not 
finer than his execution of it. Not for a moment, 
in his utmost violence, did he suffer the imbecility 
of the old man's anger to touch upon the ludicrous, 
when nothing but the justcst conception and feeling 
of the character could have saved him from it. 

It has been said that Lear is a study for one 
who would make himself acquainted with the work- 
ings of an insane mind. Audit is hardly less true, 
that the acting of Kean was an embodying of these 
workings. His eye, when his senses are first for- 
saking him, giving an inquiring look at what he saw, 
as if all before him was undergoing a strange and 
bewildering change which confused his brain, — the 
wandering, lust motions of his hands, which seemed 
feeling for something familiar to them, on which they 
might take hold and be assured of a safe reality, — the 
under monotone of his voice, as if he was question- 
ing his own being, and what surrounded him, — the 
continuous, but slight, oscillating motion of the body, 
— all these expressed, with fearful truth, the bewil- 
dered state of a mind fast unsettling, and making vain 
and weak efforts to find its way back to its wonted 
reason. There was a childish, feeble gladness in the 
eye, aud a half piteous smile about the mouth, at 
times, which one could scarce look upon without 
tears. As the derangement increased upon him, his 
eye lost its notice of objects about him, wandering 
over things as if he saw them not, and fastening 
upon the creatures of his crazed brain. The help- 

I less and delighted fondness with which he clings 
to Edgar as an insane brother, is another instance 
of the justness of Kean's conceptions. Nor does he 

j lose the air of insanity, even in the fine moralizing 
parts, and where he inveighs against the corrup- 
tions of the world: There is a madness even in his 

The violent and immediate charges of the passions 
in Lear, so difficult to manage without jarring upon 
us, are given by Kean with a spirit and with a fit- 
ness to nature which we had hardly thought possi- 
ble. These are equally well done both before and 
after the loss 'of reason. The most difficult scene, 



in this respect, is the last interview between Lear I 
and his daughters, Goneril and Regan, — (and how 
wonderfully does Kean cany it through!) — the | 
scene which ends with the horrid shout and cry j 
with which lie runs out mad from their presence, as 
if his very brain had taken fire. 

The last scene which we are allowed to have of 
Shakespeare's Lear, for the simply pathetic, was 
played by Kean with unmatched power. We sink I 
down helpless under the oppressive grief. It lies 
like a dead weight upon our hearts. AVe ara 
denied even the relief of tears ; and are thankful for 
the shudder that seizes us when he kneels to his 
daughter in the deploring weakness of his crazed 

It is lamentable that Ivean should not be allow- 
ed to show his unequalled powers in the last scene 
of Lear, as Shakespeare wrote it; and that tins 
mighty work of genius should be profaned by the 
miserable, mawkish sort of by-play of Edgar's and 
Cordelia's loves: Nothing can surpass the imper- 
tinence of the man who made tiie change, but the 
folly of those who sanctioned it. 


Home gives a certain serenity to the mind, so that 
everything is well defined, and in a clear atmo- 
sphere, and the lesser beauties brought out t'o re- 
joice in the pure glow which floats over and be- 
neath them from the earth and sky. In this state 
of mind afflictions come to us chastened ; and if the 
wrongs of the world cross us in our door-path, we 
put them aside without anger. Vices are about 
us, not to lure us away, or make us morose, but to 
remind us of our frailty and keep down our pride, 
We are put into a right relation with the world; 
neither holding it in proud scorn, like the solitary 
man, nor being carried along by shifting and hurried 
feelings, and vague and careless notions of things, 
like the world's man. We do not take novelty for 
improvement, or set up vogue for a rule of conduct; 
neither do we despair, as if all great virtues had 
departed witli the years gone by, though we see 
new vices, frailties, and follies taking growth in the 
very light which is spreading over the earth. 

Our safest way of coming into communion with 
mankind is through our own household. For there 
our sorrow and regret at the failings of the bad are 
in proportion to our love, while our familiar inter- 
course witli the good has a secretly assimilating 
influence upon our characters. The domestic man 
has an independence of thought which puts him at 
ease in society, and a 1 cheerfulness and benevolence 
of feeling which seem to ray out from him, and to 
diffuse a pleasurable sense over those near him, like 
a soft, bright day. As domestic life strengthens a 
man's virtue, so does it help to a sound judgment 
and a right balancing of things, and gives an inte- 
grity and propriety to the whole character. God, 
in Ids goodness, has ordained that virtue should 
make its own enjoyment, and that wherever a vice 
or frailty is rooted out, something should spring up 
to be a beauty and delight in its stead. But a man 
of a character rightly cast, has pleasures at home, 
which, though fitted to his highest nature, are com- 
mon to him as his daily food ; and he moves about 
his house under a continued sense of them, and is 
happy almost without heeding it. 

Women have been called angels, in love-tales and 
sonnets, till we have almost learned to think of 
nugels as little better than woman. Yet a man who 
knows a woman thoroughly, and doves her truly, — 
and there are women who may be so known and 
loved, — will find, after a few years, that Ids relish for 
the grosser pleasures is lessened, and that he has 

grown into a fondness for the intellectual and 
refined without an effort and almost unawares. He 
has been led on to virtue through his pleasures; and 
the delights of the eye, and the gentle play of that 
passion which is the most inward and romantic in 
our nature, and which keeps much of its character 
amidst the concerns of life, have held him in a kind 
of spiritualized existence: he shares his very being 
with one who, a creature of this world, and with 
something of the world's frailties, is 

yet a Spirit still, and bright 
With sutnetuing ul'an augel light. 

With all the sincerity of a companionship of feel- 
ing, cares, sorrows, and enjoyments, her presence is 
as the presence of a purer being, and there is that 
in her nature which seems to bring him nearer to a 
better world, She is, as it were, linked to angels, 
and in his exalted moments, he feels himself held by 
the same tie. 

In the ordinary affairs of life, a woman has a 
greater influence over those near h<r than a man. 
While our feelings are, for the most pait, as retired 
as anchorites, hers are in play lefo.e us. We 
hear them in her varying voice; v. e see them in 
the beautiful and harmonious undulations of her 
movements, in the quick shifting hues of her face, in 
her e3 - e, glad and bright, then fond and suffused ; 
her frame is alive and active with what is at her 
heart, and all the outward form speaks. She seems 
of a finer mould than we, and cast in a form of 
beauty, which, like all beauty, acts with a moral 
influence upon our hearts; and as she moves about 
us, we feel a movement within which rises and 
spreads gently over us, harmonizing us with her 
own. And can any man listen to this, — Can his eye, 
day after day, rest upon this, and he not be touched 
by it, and made better ? 

The dignity of a woman has its peculiar charac- 
ter ; it awes more than that of man. His is more 
physical, bearing itself up with an energy of courage 
which we may brave, or a stre:.gth which we may 
struggle against; he is his own avenger, and we 
may stand the brunt. A woman's has nothing of 
this force in it; it is of a higher quality, and too 
delicate for mortal touch. 


Ricttaed Daexey was born about 1787, in the 
county of Louisa, Virginia, of a family settled for 
several generations in that state, and which had, 
in early times of England, been Daubeney. 
Earlier still it is said to have been I? Aubigny or 
D'Aubigne, of France. His mother had been a 
Meriwether, aunt to Meriwether Lewi*, who, with 
Captain Clarke, in Jefferson's presidency, ex- 
plored the sources of the Missouri and the Rocky 
Mountains. Richard's father, Samuel Dabney, 
was a wealthy farmer and planter, with twelve 
children. None of them were regularly or tho- 
roughly educated. Richard's instruction was but 
in the plainest rudiments of knowledge, till his 
sixteenth or eighteenth year, when lie went to a 
school of Latin and Greek. In these languages 
he strode forward with great rapidity ; learning 
in one or two years -more than most boys learned 
in six. Afterwards he was an assistant teacher 
in a Richmond school. From the burning theatre 
of that city, in December, 1811, he barely escaped 
with life, receiving hurts which he bore with 
him to his grave. 

In 1812, however, he published in Richmond a 
thin duodecimo volume of Poems, Original and 



Tranala'el, which, though of somo merit, morti- 
fyingly failed with the public, and he then endea- 
vored to suppress the edition. Going to Phila- 
delphia with general undefined viewa to literary 
pursuits, he published, through Mathew Carey, a 
much improved edition of his poems in 1815. 
This too was, as the publisher' said, " quite a losing 
concern." Yet it had pieces remarkable for 
striking and vigorous thought; and the diversity 
of translation (from Grecian, Latin, and Italian 
poets) 'evinced ripeness of scholarship and cor- 
rectness of taste. In the mechanical parts of 
poetry— in rhythm and in rhymes — he was least 
exact. Nearly half the volume consis'.ed of trans- 
lation?. A short one from Sappho is not inele- 
gant, or defective in versification: 

I cannot 'tis in vain to try — 

This tiresome talk for ever ply ; 
I cannot bear this senseless round, 
To one dull course for ever bound ; 
I cannot, 0:1 the darkened page, 
Con the deep maxima of the sage, 
When all my thoughts perpetual swarm, 
Around Eliza's blooming form. 

Dabney was said to have written a large por- 
tion of Carey's " Olive Branch, or Faults on Both 
Sides," designed to show how flagrantly both of 
the great parties (Federal and Republican) had 
sinned axainst their country's good, and against 
their own respective principles, whenever party 
interests or party rage commanded. 

In a few years more he returned to his native 
plao, where his now widowed mother, with 
some of her children, live 1 upon her farm. Here 
he spent the rest of his life; in devouring such 
books and periodicals as he could find — in visits 
among a few of the neighboring farmers — and in 
such social enjoyments as rural Virginia then af- 
forded, in which juleps and grog-drinking made 
a fearfully large part. Dabney had become an 
opium-eater, led on, it seems, by prescriptions of 
that poison for some of his injuries in the burn- 
ing theatre. To this he added strong drink ; 
and in his last years he was seldom sober when 
the means of intoxication were at hand. Some 
friends who desired to see his fine classical attain- 
ments turned to useful account, prevailed upon 
him to take a school of five or six boys, and that 
pursuit he continued nearly to the last. 

Dnring his country life, in 1818, was published 
a poem of much classic beauty, called " Ehodo- 
daphne, or the Thessalian Spell," which was at- 
tributed to Dabney by a Richmond Magazine, 
but he always denied the authorship ; and Carey 
the publisher, in a letter dated 1827, says, " It 
was an English production, as my son informs 

Dabney died in November, 1825, at the age of 
thirty-eight; prominent among the myriads to 
whom the drinking usages of America have made 
appropriate the deep self-reproach — 

We might have won the meed of fame, 
Essayed and reached a worthier aim — 
Had more of wealth and less of shame, 
Nor heard, as from .1 tongue of flame — 
You. might have been — you might have been ! 

The prevailing traits of his mind were memory 
and imagination. His excellence was only in li- 

terature. For mathematics and the sciences he 
had no strong taste. He was guileless, and had 
warm affections, which he too guardedly ab- 
stained from displaying, as he carried his dislike 
of courtliness and professions to the opposite ex- 
treme of cynicism.''' 


As numerous as the stars of heaven, 
Are the fond hopes to mortals given ; 
But two illume, with brighter ray, 
The morn and eve of life's short day. 

Its glowing tints, on youth's fresh days, 

The Lucifer of life displays, 

And bids its opening joys declare 

Their bloom of prime shall be so fair, 

That till its minutes, all its hours 

Shall breathe of pleasure's sweetest flowers. 

But false the augury of that star — 

The Lord of passion drives his car, 

Swift up the middle line of heaven, 

And blasts each flower that hope had given. 

And care and woe, and paiu and 6trife, 

All mingle in the noon of life. 

Its gentle beiji«j9 -pn man's Inst days, 

The HesperunV^, ,/e displays: 

When all of p ,sion's midday heat 

Within the breast forgets to beat ; 

When calm and smooth our minutes glide, 

Along life's tranquillizing tide ; 

It points with slow, receding light, 

To the sweet rest of silent night ; 

And tells, when life's vain schemes shall end, 

Thus will its closing light descend ; 

And as the eve-star seeks the wave, 

Thus gently reach the quiet grave. 


When the dark shades of death dim the warrior's 

When the warrior's spirit from its martial form flies, 
The proud rites of pomp are performed at his grave, 
And the pageants of splendor o'er its cold inmate 

wave ; 

Though that warrior's deeds were for tyrants per- 

And no thoughts of virtue that warrior's breast 

Though the roll of his fame is the record of death, 

And the tears of the widow are wet 011 bis wreath. 

What then are the rites that are due to be paid, 
To the virtuous man's tomb, and the brave warrior's 

To him, who was firm to his country's love? 
To him whom no might from stern virtue could 

move ? 

Be his requiem, the sigh of the wretched bereft ; 
Be his pageants, the tears of the friends he has left; 
Such tears, as were late with impassioned grief shed. 
On the grave that encloses our CakiungtonI; dead. 

* We are indebted for this sketch of Richard Dabney to a 
gentleman of Virginia. Lucian Minor, Esq., of Louisa County. 

t Coi. E. Carriogton, a revolutionary patriot, who died in 
the autumn of 1810, in Richmond, Virginia. 




Nos dccebat 

Lugere, ubi esset aliquis in lucem editus, 
Hmnaine vita: vaiia reputantes mala ;* 
At, qui labores murte finisset graves, 
Omnes amicos laude et la*titia exequi. 

Eurip. apud Tull. 

wise was the people that deeply lamented 
The hour that presented their children to light, 

And gathering around, all the mis'ries recounted, 
That brood o'er life's prospects and whelm them 
, in night. 

And wise was the people that deeply delighted, 
When death snatched its victim from life's cheer- 
less day ; 
For then, all the clouds, life's views that benighted, 
They believed, at his touch, vanished quickly 

Life, faithless and treach'rous, is for ever presenting, 
To our view, flying phantoms we never can gain ; 

Life, cruel and tasteless, is forever preventing 
All our joys, and involving our pleasure in vain. 

Death, kind and consoling, comes calmly and lightly, 
The balm of all sorrow, the cure of all ill, 

And after a pang, that but thrills o'er us slightly, 
All then becomes tranquil, all then becomes still. 


Nathaniel II. Carter was born at Concord, 
New Hampshire, Septemb^; 10 7, 1787. He was 
educated at Exeter academy ".''ad Dartmouth Col- 
lege, and on the completion of his course be- 
came a teacher at Salisbury, New Hampshire, 
■whence lie soon after removed to take a similar 
charge at Portland, Maine. In 1817 he was ap- 
pointed professor of languages in the University 
created by the state legislature at Dartmouth, 
where he remained until the institution was bro- 
ken up by a decision of the Supreme Court, when 
he removed to New York. In 1819 he became 
editor of the Statesman, a newspaper of the Clin- 
tonian party. In 1824 he delivered a poem at 
Dartmouth College before the Phi Beta Kappa 
Society, entitled The Pains of the Imagination. 
In the following year he visited Europe, and wrote 
home letters descriptive of his travels to the 
Statesman, which were republished in other jour- 
nals throughout the country. On his return in 
the spring of 1827 he published these letters, re- 
vised and enlarged,in two octavo volumes,* which 
were favorably received. In consequence of ill 
health he passed the following winter in Cuba, 
and on his return in the spring abandoned, for 
the same reason, the editorial profession. In the 
fall of 1829 he was invited by a friend residing 
in Marseilles to accompany him on a voyage to 
that place. While on shipboard, believing that 
his last hour was approaching, he wrote some 
lines entitled The Closing Scene, or the Burial at 
Sea. He survived, however, until a few days 
after his arrival, in December, 1829. 

Mr. Carter's letters furnish a pleasing and some- 
what minute account of the objects of interest in 
an ordinary European tour, at the period of its 
publication much more of a novelty than at pre- 
sent. His poems were written from time to time 

* Letters from Europe, comprising the Journal of a Tour 
through England, Scotland, France, Italy, and Switzerland, in 
the years 1S25, '26, and '27. By N. H. Carter. New York : 
1S27. 2 vols. 8vo. 

on incidents connected with his feelings, studies, 
and travels, and are for the most part simply re- 

Isaac, the son of Solomon Ilarby, was the grand- 
son of a lapidary of the Emperor of Morocco, 
who fled to England, and married an Italian lady. 
His son Solomon settled in Charleston, S. C, . 
where Isaac was born in 1788. He was educated 
under the care of Dr. Best, a celebrated teacher 
of those days. He commenced, but soon aban- 
doned the study of the law, and the support of 
his mother and the rest of his family falling upon 
him in consequence of the death of his father, he 
opened a school onEdisto Island, which met with 

His taste for literature and facility in writing 
soon brought him in connexion with the press. 
He became the editor of a weekly journal, the 
" Quiver," and after its discontinuance of the 
" Investigator" newspaper, the title of which he 
changed to the " Southern Patriot," in which he 
supported the administration of Madison. He 
became widely and favorably known as a news- 
paper writer, especially in the department of 
theatrical criticism. 

In 1807, his play of the Gordian Knot, or 
Causes and, Effects, was produced at the Charles- 
ton Theatre, where he had previously offered 
another live act piece, Alexander Sevens, which 
wtis declined. It was played but a few times. 
In 1819, Alherti, a five act play by the same 
author, appeared with better success. It was pub- 
lished soon after its performance. 

In 1825 he delivered an address in Charleston, 
before the " Reformed Society of Israelites," ad- 
vocating the addition of a seimon and services in 
English to the Hebrew worship of the Synagogue. 
In June, 1828, Harby removed from Charleston 
to New York, his object being to secure a larger 
audience for his literary labors. He contributed 
to the Evening Post and other city periodicals, 
and was fast acquiring an influential position, 
when his career was interrupted by his death, 
on the fourteenth of November, 1828. 

A selection from his writings was published at 
Charleston in the following year, in one volume 
octavo.* It contains his play of Alberti, Dis- 
course before the Reformed Society of Israelites, 
and a number of political essays, with literary 
and theatrical criticisms, selected from his news- 
paper writings. 

Alberti is founded upon the history of Lorenzo 
de Medici, and designed to vindicate his conduct 
from "the calumnies of Alfieri in his tragedy 
called The Conspiracy of the Pazzi." The drama 
is animated in action, and smooth in versification. 


William Elliott, the grandfather of the subject 
of our remarks, removed from Charleston nearly 
a century ago, sold his possessions in St. Paul's, and 
settled at Beaufort, where he intermarried with 
Mary Barnwell, grand-daughter of John Barnwell, 

* A Selection from the Miscellaneous Writings of the late 
Isaac Harby, Esq., arranged and published by Henry L. Pinck- 
rey and Abraham Moise, for the benefit of his family. To 
which is prefixed a memoir of his life, by Abraham Moise. 



distinguished first as the leader of the Tuscarora 
war, ami afterwards as the agent of the colony in 
England, through whose" representations the con- 
stitutions of Locke were abrogated, and the colony 
passed from the hands of the Lords Proprietors 
into those of the Crown. 

From this marriage descended three sons — Wil- 
liam, Ralph, and Stephen. Ralph died without 
surviving issue. Stephen is the naturalist and 
scholar, previously noticed.* William, theeldest, 
was born in 1761, received the rudiments of his 
education at Beaufort, and long before he hail ar- 
rived at manho id joined in the patriotic struggle 
against the mother country, along with his uncles 
John, Edward, and Robert Barnwell. Enduring 
his full share of the hardships and perils of that 
period, he was dangerously wounded at the sur- 
prise on John's Island, was taken prisoner, and 
while yet a minor was held worthy of being im- 
mured in the prison-ship. His name will be 
found on the list of those worthies who signed 
the memorable letter to General Greene. 

At the close of the war, Mr. Elliott applied 
himself to repair the lo sses suffered by his paternal 
estate, through the ravages of the enemy, and 
approved himself an aide administrator. Of re- 
markable public spirit, he devoted his energy, and 
to a large extent his purse, to the promotion of 
various institutions of charity, education, and pub- 
lic improvement, served with honor in both 
branches of the legislature, and died in 1808, 
when Senator from his native parish, — thus clos- 
ing at the age of forty-eight a life of patriotic 
devotion, of untiring usefulness, and spotless in- 

He was married in 1787 to Phebe Waight, a 
lady of Beaufort, and their eldest son, William 
Elliott, the subject of this notice, was born in the 
same town on the '27th of April, 1788. The rudi- 
ment-) of his education were received in his native 
town. He there entered the Beaufort College 
(since merged into a grammar-school), whence he 
entered, ad eundem, after a two days' examination, 
the Sophomore Class at C imbridge. He was 
distinguished at that institution, having received 
the honor of an English oration at the Junior ex- 
hibition; and though forced to leave college at 
the end of that year from a dangerous attack of 
bronchitis, he received from the government the 
unsolicited compliment of an honorary degree. 
His father having died while he was at college, 
Mr. Elliott applied himself, on his return home, 
to the management of his estate. He was elected 
to the legislature, and served in both brandies 
with credit; but from his liability to bronchial 
affections did not enter frequently into debate. 
In 1832, during the crisis of the Nullification 
fever, Mr. Elliott was a member of the Senate of 
South Carolina, and while unalterably opposed to 
a tariff of protection, as unequal and unjust to 
the Southern states, he denied that a nullification 
by a state was the proper remedy for the griev- 
ance. His constituents had come to think differ- 
ently, and instructed him by a large majority to 
vote for the call of a convention, and in default 
of that, to vote for nullification of the tariff laws 
by the legislature. To this latter clause of their 

* Ante, vol. i. 001. 

instructions Mr. Elliott excepted, as fatal to the 
union and subversive of the government, and, 
were it otherwise, impossible for him to carry 
out ; because in his view contradictory to his 
oath of office, which bound him to maintain and 
defend the constitution of this State and of the 
United States, lie contended that the tariff acts, 
however oppressive, sprang from a power clearly 
granted in the constitution, with one only condi- 
tion annexed, that of uniformity ; and that while 
that condition was inviolate, no palpable violation 
of the constitution could be pretended, and no 
state therefore, by the terms of "the Kentucky 
and Virginia resolutions," could be warranted in 
nullifying them. These exceptions were not satis- 
factory to his constituents, who, after hearing 
them, renewed their instructions, whereupon he 
resigned his office of Senator. From this time 
forward he has devoted himself to agricultural 
pursuits, to rural sports, varying the even tenor 
of his life by occasional inroads into the domain 
of letters, by. essays on agriculture, controversial 
papers on political economy, addresses before Ag- 
ricultural Societies, contributions to the Southern 
Review ; by the essays of " Piscator" and " Ve- 
nator," since enlarged and embodied in " Carolina 
Sports ;" by a Tragedy in blank verse, printed, not 
published ; and by occasional poems, of which a 
few have seen the'"' -fit, and which serve to show 
what he might In.' e accomplished in that depart- 
ment had the kindly spur of necessity been ap- 
plied, or had other auspices attended his life.* 

Mr: Elliott chose for the subject of his tragedy 
the Genoese conspiracy of Fiesco, in the manage- 
ment of which he has followed the narrative of 
DeRetz. He has handled the subject with free- 
dom and spirit, in a mood of composition never 
lacking energy, though with more attention to 
eloquence than the finished accomplishments of 
ver^e. In one of the scenes with Fiesco, a con- 
spirator is made to utter a glowing prediction of 

Hot here look we for freedom : 
In that new world, by daring Colon given 
To the untiring g;ize of pleased mankind ; 
That virgin land, unstained as yet by crime, 
Insulted Freedom yet may rear her throne, 
And build perpetual altars. 

The passage is continued with a closing allusion 
to the American Union. 

'Gainst this rock 
The tempest of invasion harmless beats, 
While lurking treason, with envenomed tooth 
Still idly gnaws; till scorpion-like, he turns 
His disappointed rage upon himself, 
Strikes, and despairing dies. 

Doria thus apostrophizes the city over which 
he ruled. 

Watchmen of Genoa! is the cry, all's well? 
The gathering mischief can no eye discern 
But mine, already dim, and soon to close 
In sleep eternal ? Oh, thou fated city ! 

* Carolina Sports, by Land and Water; Including Incidents 
of Devil Fishing, &c. Bv the Hon. Win. Elliott of Beaufort, 
8. C. Charleston : 1S5G. ' 12mo. pp. 172. 

Fiesco; a Tragedy, by an American. New York: Printed 
for the author. 1S50. l'2mo. pp. 154. 

Address delivered bv special request before the St. Paul'a 
Agricultural Society, Slay, 1850. Published by the Society. 
Charleston: 1650. 



(Cursed beyond all, but her who slew her lord,) 

Must wars, seditious, desolations, be 

Thy portion ever moie? the Ostrogoth 

Has mastered tliee — the Saracen despoiled, 

The Lombard pillaged thee. The Milanese 

And the rude bwitzer — each hath giv'n thee law, 

The Frenchman bound thee to his galling yoke — 

The Spaniard sacked and plundered thee! Alasl 

Hast thou cast off the yoke of foreign foes 

To feel the keener pang — the deadlier lage — 

The agony of fierce domestic faction ? 

Rent were thy chains, and Freedom waved her wand 

Over thy coasts, that straight like Lden bloomed! 

And from the base of daik blue Appeninc 

Thy maible palaces looked biiglitly forth 

Upon the sea, that mirrored them again, 

Till the rough mariner foigot his helm 

To gaze and wonder at thy loveliness! 

The Moloch, Faction, enters, and in blood 

Of brethren is this smiling Fden steeped! 

Crumble the gilded spiie, and gorgeous roof; 

With one wide ruin they deform the land, 

And mark the desolate shore, like monuments! 

Staunched now, these cruel self-inflicted wounds; 

Staunched is mine own hereditary feud; 

Nor Doiia, nor Spinola ; Gliibeline, 

Nor Guelph ; distuib thee with new tragedies. 

Th' Adorni and Frcgoso — lames that served 

As rallying points to faction — are no mo:e. 

Now, that thou hail'st the dawn of liberty, 

Say, Oh, my Country ! shall a facitor mar, 

With hellish, spite, thy dearly {.y 1 chased peace? 

Mr. Elliott's prose sketches of the piscatory 
scenes of his ocean vicinity are clever Sporting 
Magazine paper-, lively and picturesque ; with a 
speciality of the author's own in the gigantic 
game with which he has identified himself of the 
Devil Fishing of Port Royal Sound. The follow- 
ing will show the quality of the sport. 

I bad left the cruising ground but a few days, 
when a party was formed, in July, 1844, to engage 
in this sport. Kath. Heyward, Jun., J. G. Barnwell, 
E. B. Means, and my son, Thos. R. S. Elliott, were 
respectively in command of a boat each, accompa- 
nied by several of their friends. While these boats 
were lying on their oars, expecting the approach of 
the fish, one showed himself far ahead, and they all 
started from their several stations in pursuit. It 
■was my son's fortune to reach him first. His har- 
poon had scarcely pierced him, when the fish made 
a demivault in the air, and, in his descent, struck 
the boat violently with one of his wii gs. Had he 
fallen perpendicularly on the boat, it must have been 
crushed, to the imminent peril of all on board. As 
it happened, the blow fell aslant upon the bow, — and 
the effect was to drive her astern with such force, 
that James Cuthbert, Esq., of Pocotnligo, who was 
at the helm, was pitched forward at full length on 
the platform. Each oarsman was thrown forward 
beyond the seat he occupied; and my eon, who was 
standing on the forecastle, was projected far beyond 
the bow of the boat. He fell, not into the sea, but 
directly upon the back of the Devil-fish, who lay in 
full sprawl on the surface. For some seconds Tom 
lay out of water, on this veritable Kraken, but hap- 
pily made his escape without being entangled in the 
cordage, or receiving a parting salute from his for- 
midable wings. My son was an expert swimmer, 
and struck off for the boat. The fish meantime had 
darted beneath, and was drawing her astern. My 
henchman Dick, who was the first to recover his 
wits, tossed overboard a coil of rope and extended 
on oar, the blade of which was seized by my son, 

who thus secured his retreat to the boat. He had 
no sooner gained fcotii g. in it, than, standi] g on 
the forecastle, he gave three hearty cheeis, and thus 
assured his companions of his safety, 'ihey, mean- 
time, from their several boats, had seen Lis reii.ous 
situation, without the chance of assistii g him ; — their 
oarsmen, when ordered to pull ahead, stood amazed 
or stupefied, and uioppii g their cms nr.d jaws, cried 
out, "Great king Mass Tom oveiboaid! !" fco in- 
tense was their curiosity to see how (he affair w culd 
end, that they entiiely ioigot hew much might de- 
pend on their own eh'oits. Could ihey have lowed 
and looked at the tame time, it would have been all 
very well ; but to turn their hac ks on arch a jt grant, 
every incident of -which they were to keenly bent 
on obeervii g, was exp.ectii g too much from Airican 
forethought and Eelf-j ossession ! 

In a few minutes, 1113- son found himself surrounded 
by his companions, whose to'atsweie closely gioi ped 
around. Ihey threw themselves into action, wiih a 
vivacity which showed that tl.ey weie disposed to 
punish the fish for the 11 Eolei.ce of his attack, — they 
allowed him but sloit time. for shiift, bi.i1; fofiiig 
him to the suifaee, filled his body with their lcfent- 
ful weapons, — then, joinii g their Ibices, diew him . 
rapidly to the shore, and landed him, amidst shouts 
and cheerii gs, at Mrs. Elliott's, Hilton Head. He 
measured sixteen feet acioss! 

To this we may add the striking introduction 
of General Charles Cotesworth Pinckney's island 
residence in an account of another fishing excur- 
sion in the sound. 

A third fishing-line was formerly drawn by placing 
the last ] ines on the Hilton Head beach in laigo 
with the mansion-house of Gen. C. C. Pheknoy, on 
1'inckney Island. Lutlhis mai sion 1 loi ger exists: 
it was swept away in one of the feaiful hunicai es 
that vex our coast! 1o this spot, that steiliig pa- 
triot and lion-hearted soldier ictired ium the aiei a 
of political strife, to s] ei d tl e evei.ii g of his ds.ys 
in social enjoyment and liteiaiy lclaxation. On a 
small island, attached to the laigcr one, which bears 
his name, and which, jutting out into the bay, af- 
forded a delightful view of the ocean, he fixed his 
lesidence! Ulieie, in tie midst of fines ts of cak, 
laurel and palmetto, the giowth of centrales, his 
mansion-house was ei ectcd. '1 1 ei e si cod the h:boia- 
toiy, with its nppaiatus for chemical experiments, — 
the library, stoied with woiks of science in vaiious 
tongues; theie bloomed the nursery for exotics; 
and theie was found each other appliance, with 
which taste and intelligence smiound the abodes of 
wealth. It is melancholy to icfiect on the niter 
destruction that followed ; even before the v en ei able 
proprietor had been gatl.eied to his fathers! 'the 
ocean swallowed up e\ and it is liteially 
true, that the sea monster 1 ow flaps his wii gs over 
the very spot where his hcaith-stoi e was placed, — 
where the rites of an elegant hospitality were so 
unstintedly dispensed, — and where the delighted 
guest listened to many an instructive anecdote, and 
unrecorded yet significant incident of the revo- 
lutionary period, as they flowed fiom the cheerful 
lips of thepatiiot. It aignes 1.0 defect of judgment 
in Gen. Pinekney, that he lavished such ex] on 
a situation thus exposed. Ill stroi g pioctical sense 
he was surpassed by no man. It was, 111 truth, his 
characteristic. He built where trees of a ceitmy's 
growth gave promise of stability ; but, in our South- 
ern Atlantic borders, he who builds 6troi gest, does 
not build on rock, — for among the shifting sands of 
our coast, old channels are closed, and new ones 
worn, by the prevailing winds and currents, throngh 



■which the -waters are poured, during the storms of 
the equh.ox, with a force that nothing can resist. 

True to liis antecedents, Mr. Elliott wielded in 
1851, in his letters of "Agricola," the same effec- 
tive pen against secession which he had so ener- 
getically pointed in 1831 against nullification. 


Samuel Jaokson Gardner was born at Brook- 
line, near Boston, Massachusetts, the ninth day of 
July, 1788 ; a descendant of one of the early set- 
tlers of the name in New England, and on the mo- 
ther's side from Edward Jackson, who came from 
England in 1G42. He was educated at Harvard; 
pursued the practice of the law for several years ; 
was elected more than once to the legislature of 
his native state, but manifested an early repug- 
nance to public life. Sine?, he has resided in New 
York and has been a frequent contributor and 
(during the absence of Mr. Kinney, its editor, in 
Europe) the efficient conductor of the Newark 
Daily Advertiser. His essays, with the signature 
of "Decius," chiefly appearing in that journal, and 
occasionally in the Literary World, are written 
with ease and ingenuity on miscellaneous subjects, 
political economy topics, the principles of govern- 
ment, literature, manners; sometimes in a serious 
and moral, at other times in a critical, satirical, 
humorous vein. He has also written some fugi- 
tive poetry. His writings, always anonymous, 
have never been collected into a volume. 

His son, Augustus K. Gardner, a physician in 
New York, is the author of a clever volume 
of sketches of Parisian life, published after a 
tour in France in 1848, with the title of Old 
Wine in New Bottles. He is also the author 
of several medical essays and tracts on civic 


Was born in November, 1788, in Beaufort, S. C. 
His father, a de-eendaut of one of the earliest 
settlers in that portion of the state in which the 
colonists under Sayle first landed, was an officer 
in the Continental army to the close of the Revolu- 
tion. The son was educated at the South Caro- 
lina College ; in 1813 was elected to the State 
House of Representatives, and was subsequently 
admitted to the bar at Charleston. In 1831 he 
was elected to the Senate of his state, and, in 
the controversy which then agitated the country 
on the subject of the tariff, took part with those 
who held that the reserved rights of the state 
gave it the power to determine when its grants 
for government to the federal authorities were 
violated, and how those violations should be ar- 
rested within its own limits. He was a temper- 
ate and uuuerate advocate of this view of the 
question in controversy, and never disposed to 
push it to the extreme of civil war, or a dissolu- 
tion of the Union. In 1833 he was elected a 
member of Congress from the districts of Beau- 
fort and Colleton, holding his seat for four years. 
In 1811 he was appointed collector of the port 
of Charleston by President Tyler, was re-appointed 
by President Polk, and removed by President 
Pierce from party considerations. 

In 1850, at the height of the secession agita- 

tion, Mr. Grayson published in a pamphlet a 
Letter to Governor Seabrooh, deprecating the 
threatened movement, and pointing out the greater 
evils of disunion. 

Mr. Grayson is a lover and cultivator of litera- 
ture. He has been for some years an occasional 
contributor to the Southern Review, and a fre- 
quent writer in the dady press. In 1851 ho pub- 
lished a didactic poem entitled jf' he Hireling and 
the Slave, the object of which is to compare the 
condition and advantages of the negro in his 
state of servitude at the South, with the frequent 
condition of the pauper laborer of Europe. This, 
however, though "it gives name to the poem, is 
not its entire argument. It contains also an 
idyllic picture of rural life at the South as shared 
by the negro in his participation of its sports and 
enjoyments. This is handled in a pleasing man- 
ner; as tho author describes the fishing and 
hunting scenes of his native region bordering on 
the coast. An episode introduces a sketch of 
General Charles Cotesworth Pinckney on his re- 
tirement at his " island home." From tho de- 
scriptive portions we select this picture of 


nis too the Christian privilege to share 
The weekly festival of praise and prayer; 
For him the Sabbath shines with holier light, 
The air is balmier, and the sky more bright; 
Winter's brief suns with warmer radiance glow, 
With softer breath the gales of autumn blow, 
Spring with new flowers more richly strews tho 

And summer spreads a fresher verdure round ; 
The early shower is past; the joyous breeze 
Shakes pattering rain drops from the rustling 

And with the sun, the fragrant offerings rise, 
From Nature's censers to the bounteous skies; 
With cheerful aspect, in his best array, 
To the far forest church he takes his way; 
With kind salute the passing neighbour meets, 
With awkward grace the morning traveller greets. 
And joined by crowds, that gather as he goes, 
Seeks the calm joy the Sabbath morn bestows. 

There no proud temples to devotion rise, 
With marble domes that emulate the skies ; 
But bosomed in primeval trees that spread, 
Their limbs o'er mouldering mansions of the dead, 
Moss-cinctured oaks and solemn pines between, 
Of modest wood, the house of God is seen, 
By shaded springs, that from the sloping laud 
Bubble and sparkle through the silver sand, 
Where high o'erarching laurel blossoms blow, 
Where fragrant bays breathe kindred sweets be- 
And elm and nsh their blended arms entwine 
With the bright foliage of the mantling vine : 
In quiet chat, before the hour of prayer, 
Masters and Skives in scattered groups appear; 
Loosed from the carriage, in the shades around, 
Impatient horses neigh and paw the ground ; 
No city discords break the silence here, 
No sounds unmeet offend the listener's ear ; 
But rural melodies of flocks and birds, 
The lowing, far and faint, of distant herds, 
The mocking bird, with minstrel pride elate, 
The partridge whistling for its absent mate. 
The thrush's soft solitary notes prolong, 
Bold, merry blackbirds swell the general song, 
And cautious crows their harsher voices join, 
In concert cawing, from the loftiest pine. 



The University of North Carolina was established 
by the Legislature of the state on the 11th of De- 
cember, 1789. Forty of the most influential men 
of the state were incorporated as trustees, and 
held their first meeting in the town of Fayetteville 
in November of the next year, making it their ear- 
liest business to devise the means needful for the 
support of the Institution, and to determine upon 
a place for its location. 

Immediately alter the University was charter- 
ed, the Legislature granted to the trustees all es- 
cheated property, and all arrearages due to the 
state from receiving officers of the late and pre- 
sent governments up to Jan. 1, 17S3, which grant 
was afterwards extended to Dec. 1799, together 
with all moneys in executors' and administrators' 
hands unclaimed by legatees. The site of the 
University, after much deliberation, was fixed at 
Chapel Hill in the county of Orange, about twen- 
ty-eight miles west of Raleigh. This ] lace is cen- 
tral to the territory and population of the state, 
and is unrivalled for the beauty of its situation on 
an elevated range of hills, the purity of its air, 
and the healthfulness of its climate. Great inter- 
est in the welfare and prospects of the infant In- 
stitution was manifested throughout the commu- 
nity. Generous individuals gave large sums of 
money and valuable tracts of land for its support ; 
and the ladies of the two principal towns of Ra- 
leigh and NeWbern presented it with mathema- 
tical instruments, pledging themselves never to be 
indifferent to its objects and interests. Many gen- 
tlemen gave valuable books for the library ; and 
the Legislature from 'time to time increased and 
renewed its properties and privileges. 

The first college edifice being sufficiently com- 
pleted in 1794 to accommodate students, its doors 
were opened and instruction commenced in Feb- 
ruary, 1795. The Rev. David Kerr, a graduate 
of Trinity College, Dublin, was the first professor, 
assisted in the preparatory department by Samuel 
A. Holmes. Shortly after, Charles W. Harris, a 
graduate of the College of New Jersey, was elect- 
ed to the professorship of Mathematics, which 
chair he occupied for only one year. There was 
of necessity much to be done in devising, arrang- 
ing, and carrying out the most practicable-systems 
of instruction, and of prudential government — a 
work demanding much practical ability and un- 
wavering devotion to the best interests of the 

At this early crisis, Mr. Joseph Caldwell, then 
a young man but twenty -three years of age, was 
introduced to the notice of the trustees, having 
already acquired a high reputation for talents, 
scholarship, and success, in teaching. This gen- 
tleman was born in Lamington, New Jersey, 
April 21, 1773; entered the college at Princeton 
at the age of fourteen, and was graduated in 1791, 
having the Salutatory Oration in Latin assigned 
him. Having served his alma mater with much 
reputation as Tutor for several years, he was in 
1796 elected to the principal professorship in the 
University of N. C. Thenceforward the history 
of his life becomes the history of the Institution. 
For nearly forty years be devoted his best ener- 
gies to the promotion of its interests, and the cause 
of education generally throughout the state of bis 
adoption; and to his administrative skill and un- 

tiring zeal, its present high position and prosperity 
are greatly owing. Under his care, the prospects 
of the University speedily brightened and flourish- 
ed, and in 1804 the trustees signified their appre- 
ciation of his services by electing him president — ■ 
the first who had filled that office. This chair bo 
retained till the time of bis death in 1835, with 
the exception of four years from 1812 to 1816, 
during which period he retired voluntarily to 
the professorship of Mathematics, for the sake of 
relief from cares and opportunity to prosecute the 
study of Theology. Meantime the presidential 
chair was filial by the Rev. Robert H. Chapman, 
D.D. Upon that gentleman's resignation in 1816, 
Mr. Caldwell was again elected to the presidency, 
at which time his alma mater conferred on him a 
Doctorate in Divinity, aid he thencelorth took 
an elevated rank among scholars and divines of 
the Presbyterian church. 

From the time of Dr. Caldwell's first connexion 
with the University, almost everything of inter- 
est in its progress and government was submitted 
to his consideration. He alone digested and made 
practicable the various plans of particular instruc- 
tion, of internal policy and discipline. He raised 
the grade of scholarship and re-arranged the curri- 
culum so as to embrace a period of four years with 
the usual division of classes. The first anniversa- 
ry Commencement was in 1798, with a graduating 
class of nine. The greatest good of the Universi- 
ty, and indeed the general progress and intellec- 
tual improvement of the state, were ever the most 
engrossing objects of Dr. Caldw ell's care ; and 
with untiring perseverance and fidelity, hepresent- 
ed the claims of education to the community, and 
appealed to their liberality for its support. 

In 1821, the Board of Trustees was increased to 
si sty-five, the governor of the state being ex officio 
their President, and all vacancies occurring to be 
filled by a joint ballot of the two houses of Assem- 
bly. The actual government of the University, 
however, is vested in an executive committee of 
seven of the trustees, With the governor always as 
their presiding officer. 

In 1824, Dr. Caldwell visited Europe for the 
purpose of increasing the Libraiy, and forming 
cabinets, and procuring a very valuable philoso- 
phical apparatus constructed under his own in- 
spection. To these has since been added a cabi- 
net of minerals purchased in Vienna. On the 
death of Dr. Caldwell, January 28, 1835, for a 
few months the duties of the presidency were 
discharged by the senior jirofe.-sor, Dr. Mitchell, 
when the trustees elected to that office the Hon. 
David L. Swain, a native of Buncombe county, 
who, though comparatively a j'oung man, had 
served the state with distinction in the Legisla- 
ture and on the Superior Court bench, from which 
he was elected Governor for the years 1833, '34, 
'35. He entered on the office of the presidency 
of the University in January, 1836, and from that 
time to the present the Institution has been stea- 
dily advancing in reputation, influence, and num- 
bers. It is a fortunate circumstance in the history 
of this University, that for a period of nearly six- 
ty years its government has been administered by 
two incumbents both so well qualified for the of- 
fice as Dr. Caldwell and Gov. Swain. 

The number of students having greatly increas- 
ed, additions have from time to time been made 



■*£> ~ 

University of North Carolina. 

in the means of accommodation and instruction, 
and to the Faculty. The college buildings are now 
six in number, located on a beautiful and com- 
manding site, so as to form a hollow square, in- 
closing a large area or lawn surrounded by groves 
of native growth. The grounds are tastefully dis- 
posed and ornamented with choice shrubs and 
flowers, and the lawn slopes gradually from the 
buildings, several hundred yards:, to the main 
street of the village of Chapel Hill. A hall has 
lately been erected for the reception of the Uni- 
versity Library, liberal appropriations having been 
made fir valuable additions. The two literary so- 
cieties belonging to the students are also accommo- 
dated with imposing edifices; and the number of 
volumes in their libraries, and that of the Univer- 
sity together, amounts to about fifteen thousand* 
Tiie College students now (1855) number 
two hundred and eighty-one from fifteen different 
states in the Union, as ascertained by the last an- 
nual catalogue ; the whole number of graduates 
since 1795 is eleven hundred and fifty-five. The 
number of matriculates has been estimated to be 
nearly twice that of graduates. The executive 
Faculty number at present sixteen, of whom the 
senior professor, Dr. E. Mitchell, Professor of 
Chemistry, Geology, and Mineralogy, a native of 
Connecticut and graduate of Yale College, has 
been connected with the Institution for thirty- 
seven years ; and Dr. Phillips, Professor of Mathe- 
matics and Natural Philosophy, a native of Essex 
county, England, has filled his present chair for 
twenty-nine years. Professorships of Civil Engi- 
neering and of Agricultural Chemistry have late- 
ly been established. The Department of Law is un- 
der the charge of the Hon. William IT. Battle, one of 
the judges of the Supreme Court, and a regular 
course of lectures on international and constitu- 
tional Law is delivered to the Senior undergra- 
duates towards the close of their second term by 
the president. 

* Our drawing of the Colleze buildings and grounds lias Wn 
kindly furnished by Miss Phillips, daughter of the venerable 
Mathematical professor of the Institution. 

In 1837, the Trustees, with a liberality at that 
time without example, authorized the Faculty to 
admit gratuitously to the advantages of the Insti- 
tution, all young men of fair character and ability 
who are natives of the state, and unable to defray 
the expenses incident to a college education. 
About fifteen have annually availed themsdves 
of this liberality, many of whom now occupy with 
honor places of trust among their fellow citizens. 

The number of Alumni who have attained dis- 
tinction in public life will compare favorably with 
those who have gone forth from similar institu- 
tions in any part of the Union. At the last an- 
nual Commencement, six ex-Governors of this and 
other states were in the procession of the Alumni 
Association. Among numerous interesting inci- 
dents connected with the history of the Univer- 
sity, which were presented in the cor.r>e of a lec- 
ture delivered in the hall of the House of Com- 
mons since the beginning of the present session, 
it was remarked that among the alumni pf the 
college were one of the late presidents, Polk, and 
one of the late vice-presidents of the United States, 
W. R. King; the present Secretary of the Navy, 
James C. Dobbin, and the Minister to France, 
John Y. Mason ; the Governor, the Public Trea- 
surer and Comptroller, two of the three Supreme 
and six of the seven Superior Court Judges, the 
Attorney-General, and nearly a fourth of the 
members of the General Assembly of the state of 
North Carolina. 

It is not less noticeable that among the distin- 
guished clergymen of various denominations who 
received their academical training in these Halls, 
and who are at present prominently before the 
public, the institution can refer to one whose re- 
putation is established at home and abroad as a 
model of pulpit eloquence — the Rev. Francis L. 
Hawks, and to five Bishops of the Protestant Epis- 
copal Church, with which he is connected — J. H. 
Otey of Tennessee, Leonidas Polk of Arkansas, 
Cicero S. Hawks of Missouri, W. M. Green of 
Mississippi, Thomas F. Davis of South Caro- 



"William Jat, the second son of Chief-justice 
Jay, was Lorn June 16,' 1789. He studied the 
classics with the Rev. Thomas Ellison of Albany, 
the early friend of Bishop Chase, and at New 
Haven with the Rev. Mr. Davis, afterwards Pre- 
sident of Hamilton College. After completing 
his course at Yale in 1808, he read law at Albany 
in the office of Mr. John B. Henry, until com- 
pelled by an affection of the eyes to abandon 
study, he retired to his father's country-seat at 
Bedford, with whom he resided until the death 
of the hitter in 1S29, when he succeeded to the 
estate, which has since been his principal residence, 
In 1812 he married the daughter of John Mc- 
Vickar, a New York merchant. lie was ap- 
pointed First Judge of the County of Westches- 
ter by Governor Tompkins, and successively re- 
appointed by Clinton, Marcy, and Van Buren. 

Judge Jay has throughout his life been a pro- 
minent opponent of slavery, and has, in this con- 
nexion, published numerous addresses and pam- 
phlets, several of which have been collected by 
him in his Miscellaneous Writings on Slavery, 
published at Boston in 1S54. He was one of the 
founders of the American Bible Society, has been 
President of the American Peace Society, is an ac- 
tive member of the Agricultural Society of West- 
chester, and of other associations of a similar cha- 
racter. In 1832 ho published The Life and Wri- 
tings of John Jan, in, two volumes 8vo., a careful 
presentation of the career of his distinguished 
father with extracts from the correspondence and 
papers, which were bequeathed to the sons Peter 
A. and William Jay. 

John Jay, the son of William Jay, born June 
23, 1817, a graduate of Columbia College in 1836, 
is the author of several pamphlets on the Slavery 
question, and on the right of the delegates of 
churches composed of colored persons to seats iu 
the convention of the Protestant Episcopal Church 
of the Diocese of New York. 

Tms fine scholar and delicate poet, who shared 
the accomplishments of literature with the active 
pur-uits of legal and political life, was born in the 
city of Dublin, September 24, 1789. His mo- 
ther's family, the Newitts, were strong Royalists. 
One of them, his uncle John Hewitt, had been 
settled in America, and on the breaking out of 
the Revolutionary war had sold his flour mills 
upon the Hudson and returned to Ireland. His 
father, Richard Wilde, was a hardware merchant 
in Dublin, who, when he had resolved to come to 
America, thinking it possible that he might not 
like the new country and would return, left his 
business unclosed in the hands of a partner. He 
arrived at Baltimore in January, 1797, in a ship 
which he had freighted with goods on a joint 
venture with the rtiptain, who owned the vessel. 
On lauding, ship and cargo were seized as the pro- 
perty of the captain, and Mr. Wilde recovered his 
interest only after a long and expensive litigation. 
In addition to this misfortune, the rebellion of 
1798 broke, out at this time, when his Dublin 
partner was' convicted of high treason and the 
property in his hands confiscated. Not long after 
this Richard Wilde died in 1802. His widow, the 
following year, removed to Augusta, Georgia, 

where she opened a small store to supply the ne- 
cessities of the family, in which her son, Richard 
Henry, attended as clerk during the day, while 
he actively pursued his studies at night. In 1806 
Mrs. Wilde visited Ireland with the hope of reco- 
vering some portion of the large fortune of her 
husband, but returned unsuccessful the same year. 
She died in 1815, but a few months before her 
son was elected to Congress. 

It was to his mother that Wilde owed his early 
education, and from her he inherited his poet- 
ical talents. Many of her verses, remarkable for 
their vigor of thought and beauty of expre-sion, 
are preserved among the papers of the family. 

Wilde early directed his attention to the law 
while assisting his mother in Augusta. Delicate 
in constitution he studied laboriously, and before 
the age of twenty, by his solitary exertions, had 
qualified himself for admission to the bar in South 
Carolina. That his mother might not be mortified 
at his defeat, if he failed, he presented himself at 
the Green Superior Court, where he successfully 
passed a rigorous examination by Justice Early 
in the March term of 1809. He soon took an ac- 
tive part in his profession, and was elected Attor- 
ney-General of the State. In 1815 he was elected 
to the national House of Representatives, where 
he served for a single term. He was again in 
Congress from 1828 to 1835, maintaining the po- 
sition of an independent thinker, well fortified in 
his opinions, though speaking but seldom. His 
course on the Force Bill of Jackson's administra- 
tion, which he opposed, and in which he differed 
from the views of his constituents, led to his with- 
drawal from Congress. 



He next went abroad and passed five years, 
from 1835 to 1840, in Europe, residing most of 
the time in Florence, where he pursued to great 
advantage his favorite studies in Italian literature. 
He had free access to all the public libraries, be- 
sides the archives of the Medici family and the 



private collection of the Grand Duke, a favor 
seldom grunted to a stranger. The large number 
of liia manuscript notes and extracts from the 
Laurentian, Magliub-'Cehian, and the library of 
the Reformagiono, show how in.defatiga.bly his 
studies wore pursued. His curious search was at 
length rewarded by the discovery of a number of 
documents connected with the life and times of 
Dante which had previously escaped attention. 
He was enabled also to set on foot an investiga- 
tion which resulted in the discovery of an original 
painting by Giotto, of the author of the Divina 
Oommedia. Having learnt, on the authority of an 
old biographer of the poet, that Giotto had once 
painted a portrait of Dante on the wall of the 
chapel of the Bargdlo, he communicated the fact 
to Mr. G. A. Bezzi, when a subscription was taken 
up among their friends for its recovery. After a 
sufficient sum wa< collected to begin the work, 
permission was obtained from the government 
to remove the whitewash w'th which the walls 
were covered, when, after a Lbor of some months, 
two sides of the room having been previously ex- 
amined, upon the third the portrait was disco- 
vered. The government then took the enterprise 
in hand and completed the undertaking. Mr. 
"Wilde commenced a life of Dante, one volume 
only of which was written and which remains in 

At Florenco ho had among his friends many of 
the most learned aid distinguished men of the 
day, including Ciampi, Mannini, Cappoui, Ecgio, 
and others. 

Besides his investigation in the literature of 
Dante he male a special study of the vexed ques- 
tion connected with the life of Tasso. The result 
of thu he gave to the public on his return to 
America in his Conjectures and Researches con- 
csrnixg the Lose, Mildness, and Imprisonment of 
Torquato Tusso* a work of diligent scholarship, 
in which the elaborate argument is enlivened by 
the elegance of the frequent original translations 
of the sonnets. In this he maintains the sanity 
of Tasso, and traces the progress of the intrigue 
with the Princess Leonora D'Este as the key of 
the poet's difficulties. 

Mr. Wilde removed to New Orleans, and was 
admitted to the b ir in January, 184-t, and on the 
organization of the Law Department of the Uni- 
versity was appointed Profe-sor of Common 
Liw. He applied himself vigorously to the sci- 
e ca of the civil law, became engaged in various 
important cases, and was rapidly acquiring a high 
position as a civilian at the time of his death, 
which occurred in the city of New Orleans, Sep- 
tember 10, 1847. 

In addition to the writings which have been 
mentioned, Mr. Wilde wrote for the Southern Re- 
view an article on Petrarch, was an occasional 
contributor of verses to the magazines, and left 
numerous choice and valuable manuscripts un- 
published. Among the latter are various minor 
poemsj a distinct finished poem of some four cantos 
entitled Hesperia, and a collection of Italian lyrics, 
which were to have been accompanied with lives 
of the poets from whom they were translated. 
The translations are nearly complete. 

While abroad Mr. Wilde collected a large and 

* Two vols. 12mo. New York : A. V. Blake. 1842. 

valuable library of books and MSS., principally 
relating to Italian literature, many of which have 
numerous marginal notes from his pen. A me- 
moir (to bo accompanied by a collection of tho 
author's poems) is understood to be on the ovo of 
publication, from the pen of his eldest son William 
C. Wilde, a gentleman of literary tastes and culti- 
vation, eminently qualified to do justice to his 
father's memory. To another son, John P. Wilde, 
a lawyer of New Orleans, wo are indebted in ad- 
vance of this publication for the interesting and 
authentic details which we have given. 

Theso show a life of passionate earnestness, 
rising under great disadvantage to tho honors of 
the most distinguished scholar-hip, and asserting 
an eminent position in public and professional life. 
In what was more peculiarly individual to tho 
man, his exquisite tastes and sensibilities, tho 
poetical extracts, tho translations and original 
poems which wo shall give, will speak for them- 


To Vw Ducltess of Ferrara who appeared masked ai a fete. 
'Twas Night, and underneath her starry vest 
The pratdhig Love; were hidden, and their arts 
Practised so cunningly o:i our hearts, 
That never felt they sweeter scorn and jest: 
Thousands of amorous thefts their skill attest — 
All kindly hidden by the gloom from day, 
A thousand visions i.i each trembling ray 
flitted around, ia bright false splendor 
Tho clear pure moon rolled on her starry way 
Without a cloud to dim her silver light, 
And UiGii-::or.x Bg.u;ty made our revels g:iy — 
Reflecting back on heaven beams as, 
Which oven with the dawn fled not away — 
When chased tho Lun sueh lovely Guosrs from 

On two Beautiful Ladies, one Gay and one Sad. 
I saw two ladies once — illustrious, rare — 
One a sad sua ; her beauties at mid-day 
In clouds concealed; the other, bright and gay, 
Gladdene 1, Aurora-like, earth, sea, and air; 
One hid her light, lest men should call her fair, 
And of her p:-aises no reflected ray 
Suffered to cross her own celestial way — 
To charm and to be charmed, the other's care; 
Yet this her loveliness veiled not so well, 
But forth it broke. Kor could the other show 
All Hues, which wearied mirrors did not tell; 
Kor of this one could I be silent, though 
Bidden in ire — nor that one's triumphs swell, 
Since my tired verse, o'ertasked, refused to flow. 

To Alphonso, Duke of Ferrara. 

At thy loved name my voice grows loud and clear, 
Fluent my tongue, as thou art wise and strong. 
And soaring far above the clouds my song: 

But soon it droops, languid and faint to hear; 

And if thou conquerest not my fate, I fear, 
Invincible Ali'iionso I Fate ere long 
Will conquer me — freezing in Death my tongue 

And closing eyes, now opened with a tear. 

Nor dying merely grieves me, let me own, 
But to die thus — with faith of dubious sound. 
And buried name, to future times unknown. 

In tomb or pyramid, of brass or stone. 
For this, no consolation could be found; 

My monument I sought in verse alone. 




Wing'd mimic of the woods ! thou motley fool ! 

Who shall thy gay buffoonery describe? 
Thine ever ready notes of ridicule 

Pursue thy fellows still with jest and gibe. 

Wit, sophist, songster, Yokicic of thy tribe, 
Thou sportive satirist of Nature's school ; 

To thee the palm of scoffing we ascribe, 
Areh-mocl:er and mad Abbot of Misrule ! 

For such thou art by day — but all night long 
Thou pour'st a soft, sweet, pensive, solemn strain, 

As if thou didst in this thy moonlight song 
Like to the melancholy Jacques complain, 

Musi: g on falsehood, folly, vice, and wrong, 
And sighing for thy motley coat again. 


My life is like the summer rose 

That opens to the morning sky, 
But ere the shades of evening close, 

Is scatter'd on the ground — to die! 
Yet on the rose's huuib'e bed 
The sweetest dews of night are shed, 
As if she wept the waste to see — 
But none shall weep a tear fur me! 

My life is like the autumn leaf 

That trembles in the moon's pale ray, 
Its hold is frail — its date is brief, 

Eestless — and soon to pass away ! 
Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, 
The parent tree will mourn its shade, 
The winds bewail the leafless tree, 
But none shall breathe a sigh for me ! 

My life is like the prints, which feet 

Have left on Tampa's desert strand ; 
Soon as the rising tide shall beat, 

All trace will vanish from the sand ; 
Yet, as if grieving to efface 
All vestige of the human race, 
On that lone shore loud moans the sea, 
But none, alas ! shall mourn for me 1- 


James Fenimoiie Cooper was born at Burlington, 
New Jersey, September 15, 1789. He was the 
descendant of an English family who settled at 
that place in 1679. His father, Judge William 
Cooper, was born in Pennsylvania, whither a por- 
tion of the family had removed, but in early life 
selected the old family hsjjme at Burlington as 
his residence. He was a injjh of high social posi- 
tion, and became possessed in 1785 of a large 
tract of land in the neighborhood of Otsego lake, 
in the State of New York. A settlement was 
formed to which he gave the name of Coopers-N, _ 
town, and in 1790 removed his family thither. 
He was the leading man of the place, and in 1795 
and 1799 represented the district in Congress. 

It was in this frontier home surrounded by 
noble scenery, and a population composed of ad- 
venturous settlers, hardy trappers, and the rem- 
nant of the noble Indian tribes who were once 
sole lords of the domain, that the novelist passed 
his boyhood to his thirteenth year. It was a good 
school for his future calling. At the age men- 
tioned he entered Yale College, where he re- 
mained three years, maintaining notwithstanding 
Ms youth a good position in his class, when he 
obtained a midshipman's commission and entered 
the navy. The six following years of his life 
were passed in that servios, and he was thus early 

and thoroughly familiarized with the second great 
field of his future literary career. 

In 1811 he resigned his commission, married 
Miss De Lancey, a member of an old and leading 
family of the State of New York, and sister to 
the present bishop of its western diocese, and set- 
tled down to a home life in the village of Mama- 
rcneck, near the city of New York. It was not 
long after that, almost accidentally, his literary 
career commenced. He had been reading an 
English novel to his wife, when, on laying aside 
the book, he remarked that he believed that he 
could write a better story himself. He forth- 
with proceeded to test the matter, and produced 
Precaution. The manuscript was completed, he 
informs us, without any intention of publication. 
He was, however, induced by the advice of his 
wife, and his friend Charles Wilkes, in whom he 
placed great confidence, to issue the work. It 
appeared, sadly deformed by misprints. 

Precaution is a story on the old pattern of Eng- 
lish rural life, the scene alternating between the 
hall, the parsonage, and other upper-class regions 
of a country town. A scene on the deekof a 
man-of-war, bringing her prizes into port, is al- 
most the only indication of the writer's true 
strength. It is a respectable novel, offering little 
or no scope for comment, and was slightly valued 
then or afterwards by its author. 


4st* £/*-»"• an~-C- 


In 1821 he published The Spy, a Tale of tJit 
Neutral Ground, a region familiar to him by his 
residence within its borders. Harvey Birch, the 
spy, is a portrait from life of a revolutionary 
patriot, who was willing to risk his life and to 
subject his character to temporary suspicion for 
the service of his country. He appears in the 
novel as a pedlar, with a keen eye to trade as 
well as the movements of the enemy. The 
claim of Enoch Crosby, a native of Danbury, 
who was employed in this manner in the war, 
to be the original of this character, has been set 
forth with much show of probability by a writer, 
Captain H. L. Barmim, in a small volume entitled 
The Spy Unmasked, containing an, interesting 
biography, but the matter has never been defini- 
tively settled, Cooper leaving the subject in doubt 



in the preface to the revised edition of the novel 
in 1849. The rugged, homely worth of Harvey 
Birch, his native shrewdness combined with he- 
roic boldness, which develops itself in deeds, not 
in the heroic speeches which an ordinary novel- 
ist would have placed in his mouth, the dignified 
presentation of Washington in the slight disguise 
of the assumed name of Harper, the spirit of the 
battle scenes and hairbreadth escapes which 
abound in the narrative, the pleasant and truth- 
ful home scenes of the country mansion, place the 
Spy in the foremost rank of fiction. Its patriotic 
theme, a novelty at the time in the works of 
American romance, aided the impression made 
by its intrinsic merits. 

It was followed, two years later, by The Pio- 
neers ; or, the Sources of the Susquehanna, a De- 
scriptive Tale, In this the author drew on the 
earl.y recollections of his life. He lias described 
with minuteness the scenery which surrounded 
his father's residence, and probably some of its 
visitors and occupants. The best known charac- 
ter of the story is the world-renowned Leather- 
stocking, the noble pioneer, the chevalier of the 
woods. The author has aimed in this character 
at combining the heroic with the practical. Lea- 
ther-stocking has the rude dialect of a backwoods- 
man, unformed, almost uneducated, by schools. 
He is before us in his native simplicity and na- 
tive vigor, as free from the trickery of art as the 
trees which surround him. He was a new actor 
on the crowded stage of fiction, who at once 
commanded hearing and applause. The Pioneers 
well redeems its title of a descriptive tale, by its 
animated presentation of the vigorous and pictu- 
resque country life of its time and place, and 
its equally successful delineations of natural 

The Pilot, the first of the sea novels, next ap- 
peared. It originated from a conversation of the 
author with his friend Wilkes on the naval inaccu- 
racies of the recently published novel of the Pirate. 
Cooper's attention thus drawn to this field of com- 
position, he determined to see how far he could 
meet his own requirements. The work extended 
its writer's reputation, not only by showing the 
new field of which he was master, but by its evi- 
dences, surpassing any he had yet given, of power 
and energy. The ships, with whose fortunes we 
have to do in this story, interest us like creatures 
of flesh and blood. We watch the chase and the 
fight like those who have a personal interest in the 
conflict, as if ourselves a part of the crew, with 
life and honor in the issue. Long Tom Coffin is 
probably the most widely-known sailor character 
in existence. He is an example of the heroic in 
action, like Leather-stocking losing not a whit of 
his individuality of body and mind in his noble- 
ness of soul. 

Lionel Lincoln, the next novel, was a second 
attempt in the revolutionary field of the Spy, 
which did not share in treatment or reception 
with its success. 

It wns followed in the same year by The Last 
of the Mohicans, a Narrative of 1757, in which 
we again meet Leather-stocking, in an early age 
of his career, and find the Indians, of whom we 
have had occasional glimpses in the Pioneers, in 
almost undisturbed possession of their hunting- 
grounds. In this story Cooper increased his hold 

on the young, the true public of the romantic no- 
velist, by the spirit of his delineations of forest life. 
He has met objections which have been raised 
by maturer critics to his representations of the 
Aborigines in this and other works, in the fol- 
lowing i passage in the " Preface to the Leather- 
stocking Tales," published in 1S50. 

It has been objected to these books that they give 
a more favorable picture of the red man than he 
deserves. The writer apprehends that much of this 
objection arises from the habits of those who have 
made it. One of his critics, on the appearance of 
the first work in which Indian character was por- 
trayed, objected that its " characters were Indians 
of the school of Heckewelder, rather than of the 
school of nature." These words quite probably con- 
tain the substance of the true answer to the objec- 
tion. Heckewelder was an ardent, benevolent mis- 
sionary, bent on the good of the red man, and seeing 
in him one who had the soul, reason, and character- 
istics of a fellow-being. The critic is understood 
to have been a very distinguished agent of the go- 
vernment, one very familiar witli Indians, as they 
are seen at the councils to treat for the sale of their 
lands, where little or none of their domestic quali- 
ties come in play, and where indeed their evil pas- 
sions are known to have the fullest scope. As just 
would it be to draw conclusions of the general state 
of American society from the scenes of the capital, 
as to suppose that the negotiating of one of these 
treaties is a fair picture of Indian life. 

It is the privilege of all writers of fiction, more 
particularly when their works aspire to the eleva- 
tion of romances, to present the beau-ideal of their 
characters to the reader. This it is which consti- 
tutes poetry, and to suppose that the red man is to 
be represented only in the squalid misery or in the 
degraded moral state that certainly more or less be- 
longs to his condition, is, we apprehend, taking a 
very narrow view of an author's privileges. Such 
criticism would have deprived the world of even 

In the same year Cooper visited Europe, having 
received a little before his departure the honor of a 
public dinner in the city of New York. He passed 
several years abroad, and was warmly welcomed 
in every country he visited, his works being al- 
ready as well known, through translations, in 
foreign languages as in his own. He owed this 
wide-spread fame to bis wisdom in the selection 
of topics. He was re id by those who wished to 
learn something of the aboriginal and pioneer life 
of America, in the eyes of Europeans the charac- 
teristic features of the country ; and it is a com- 
mon remark of the educated class of German 
emigrants in this country, that they derived their 
first knowledge, and perhaps their first interest 
in their future home, from his pages. 

Cooper's literary activity was not impaired by 
his change of scene. He published in 1827 The 
Prairie. Leather-stocking reappears and closes 
his career in its pages. "Pressed upon by time, 
he has ceased to be the hunter and the warrior, 
and has become a trapper of the great West. 
The sound of the axe has driven him from his 
beloved forests to seek a refuge, by a species of 
desperate resignation, on the denuded plains that 
stretch to the Rocky Mountains. Here he passes 
the few closing years of his life, dying as he had 
lived, a philosopher of the wilderness, with few 
of the failings, none of the vices, and all the na- 



ture and truth of his position."* The descriptions 
of natural scenery, the animated scenes with the 
Indians, and the rude vigor of the emigrant fa- 
mily, render this one of the most successful of the 
novelist's production-*. 

• In the same year The Red Rover appeared, a 
second sea novel, which shared the success of the 
Pilot, a work which it fully equals in animation 
and perhaps surpasses in romantic interest. 

In 1828 Cooper published Notions of the Ame- 
ricans, iy a Travelling Bachelor. It purports to be 
a book of travels in the United States, and is de- 
signed to correct the many erroneous impressions 
which he found prevalent in English society, re- 
garding his country. It is an able refutation of 
the slanders of the penny-a-line tourists who had 
so sorely tried the American temper, and contains 
a warm-hearted eulogy of the people and institu- 
tions of his country. 

It was at the time of publication of this work 
that Ilalleck coupled a humorous reference to it 
with his noble tribute to the novelist, in the com- 
mencement of his poem of lied Jacket — 

Cooper, whose name is with his country's woven, 
First in her files, her Pioneer of mind — 

A wanderer now in other climes, has proven 
His love for the young land he left behind; 

And throred her in the senate-hall of nations, 

Robe 1 like the deluge rainbow, heaven-wrought; 

Magnificent as his own mind's creations, 

And beautiful as its green world of thought ; 

And faithful to the Act of Congress, quoted 
As law authority, it passed nem. con. : 

He writes that we are, as ourselves have voted, 
The most enlightened people ever known. 

That all our week is happy as a Sunday 

In Paris, full of song, and dance, and laugh; 

And that, from Orleans to the Bay of Fundy, 
There's not a baililf or an epitaph. 

And furthermore — in fifty years, or sooner, 
We shall export our poetry and wine; 

And our brave fleet, eight frigates and a schooner, 
Will sweep the seas from Zembla to the Line. 

His next novel, published in 1829, was The 
Wept of Wish-ton- Wish. He was in Paris at the 
breaking out of the Revolution of 1830, and sug- 
gested a plan to La Fayette, with whom he was 
very intimate,* that Henry V. should be recog- 
nised as King, and educated as a constitutional 
monarch, that the peerage should be abolished, 
and replaced by a seDate to be elected by the 
general vote of the whole nation, the lower house 
being chosen by the departments — a scheme wdiich 
combines the stability of an uninterrupted here- 
ditary descent with a proper scope for political 
progress, two elements that have not as yet been 
united in the various governmental experiments 
of that country. This plan was first given to the 
public some years after in one of the author's 
volumes of Travels. 

His next novel was the Water Witch, a sea 
tale, in which he has relied for a portion of its 
interest on the supernatural. 

* Note to revised edition of the Prairie. 

t He was one of the most active leaders in the demonstra- 
tions of welcome to La Fayette on his visit to the United 
fitates in 1824. — Dr. Francis's Reminiscences of Cooper. 

He, about the same time, undertook the defence 
of his country from a charge made in the Revue 
Britanniquc, that the government of the United 
States was one of the most expensive and entailed 
as heavy a burden of taxation on those under its 
sway, as any in the world. He met this charge 
by a letter, which was translated into French, 
and published with a similar production by 
General Bertraud, whose long residence in 
America had rendered him familiar with the 

These letters, prepared and published at the 
suggestion of La Fayette, were in turn responded 
to, and the original slanders reiterated. Cooper, 
in reply, published a series of letters in the 
National, a leading daily paper of Paris, the last 
of which appeared May 2, 1832. In the.-e he 
triumphantly established his position. It was 
during this discussion that he published The 
Bravo, which embodied to some extent the 
points at issue in the controversy. In the words 
of Bryant, " his object was to show how institu- 
tions, professedly created to prevent violence and 
wrong, become, when perverted from their natu- 
ral destination, the instruments of injustice, and 
how, in every system which makes power the ex- 
clusive property of the strong, the weak are sure 
to be oppressed." The scene of this story is laid 
in Venice, a new field for his descriptive powers, 
to which lie brings the same vigor and freshness 
which hf.d characterized his scenes of forest life. 
The stoiy is dramatic, the characters well con- 
trasted, and in one, the daughter of the jailor, he 
presented one of the most perfect of his female 

The Bravo was followed in 1832 by The Eei- 
denmauer, and in 1833 by The Headsman ^of 
Berne, the scenes and incidents of both of which, 
as their titles suggest, were drawn from European 
history, their political purpose being similar to 
that of the Bravo. 

Cooper's controversies in Europe attracted 
much attention at home, where his course found 
opponents as well as partisans ; and many who, 
expressing no opinion on the points at issue, were 
disposed to regard him as having provoked a con- 
| troversy for the gratification of his taste for dis- 
cu-sion. It was during this divided state of public 
I opinion that the novelist returned home in 1833. 
His first publication after his arrival was .4 Letter 
to my Countrymen, in which he gave a history of 
his controversy with a portion of the foreign press, 
and complained of the course pursued by that of 
his own country in relation thereto. Passing 
from this personal topic he censured the general 
deference to foreign criticism prevalent in the 
countiw, and entered with warmth into the dis- 
cussion of various topics of the party politics of 
the day. He followed up this production by Ths 
Monikins, a political satire, and The American 
Democrat. " Had a suitable compound ottered," 
he says in the preface to the latter, " the title of 
this book would have been something like 'Anti- 
Cant,' for such a term expresses the intention of 
the writer better, perhaps, than the one he has 
actually chosen. The work is written more in the 
spirit of censure than of praise, for its aim is cor- 
rection ; and virtues bring their own reward, 
while errors are dangerous." 

This little volume embraces almost the entire 



range of topics connected with American govern- 
ment and society. It is a vigorous presentation 
of the author's opiniuns, and it3 spirit and inde- 
pendence may he ho.^t appreciated by the exhibi- 
tion of one of its briefest but not least pungent 


" They say," is the monarch of tins country, in a 
social souse. No one asks " who says it," so long as 
it is believed that " they say it." Desig dug men en- 
deavor to persuade the publick, that already " they 
saj'," what these designing men wish to be said, and 
the publick is only too much disposed blindly to join 
in the cry of "they say." 

This is another consequence of the habit of defer- 
ring to the control of the publick, over matters in 
which the publick has no right to interfere. 

Every well meaning man, before he yields his fa- 
culties and intelligence to this sort of dictation, 
should first ask himself " who" is " they," and on 
what authority " they say" utters its mandates. 

These works, of course, furnished fruitful matter 
of comment to some of the newspaper editors of 
the day, who forgot good manners, and personally 
assailed the author's peculiarities. These aspe- 
rities were heightened after the appearance of the 
novels of Ilomewartl Bound and Home as Found, 
in 1838. Iu these the author introduced, with 
his usual force, and more than his usual humor, 
a portraiture of a newspaper editor. The news- 
papers, taking this humorous picture of the vices 
of a portion of their class as a slander on the en- 
tire body, retorted by nicknaming the author from 
a gentleman who form? one of the favored cha- 
racters of these fictions, " the mild and gentle- 
manly Mr. Effingham." 

The author now: commenced his celebrated 
libel suit* against the Commercial Advertiser and 
other influential journals. He followed up a tedi- 
ous and vexatious litigation with his customary 
resolution and perseverance, bringing suit after 
suit, until the annoyance of which he complained 
was terminated. He thus sums up the issue of 
the affair in a sentence of a letter quoted by Mr. 
Bryant: " I have beaten every man I have sued 
who has nut retracted Ins libels." 

The accuracy of Jus Naval History of the Uni- 
ted States, published in 1839 in two octavo vo- 
lumes, was one of the matters which entered into 
this controversy, and in a suit brought on this 
issue Cooper appeared and defended in person his 
account of the Battle of Lake Erie with great 
ability. A lawyer, who was an auditor of its 
closing sentences, remarked to Mr. Bryant, who 
also characterizes its opening as " clear, skilful, 
and persuasive," " I have beard nothing like it 
since the days of Emmet."* 

The publication of the Naval History during 
this stormy period of the author's career, shows 
that controversy was far from occupying his 
entire attention. This work, as was to be ex- 
pected from the author's mastery of the subject 
in another field of literature, was full of spirit. 
Its accuracy has been generally admitted, save on 
a few points, which still remain matter of discus- 
sion. It was the first attempt to fill an impor- 
tant and glorious portion of the record of the 
national progress, and still remains the chief 
authority on the subject, and from the finish and 

vigor of its battle-pieces, an American classic. 
During an earlier part of this same period, in 1836, 
Cooper issued his Sketches of Switzerland in four 
volumes, and in 1837 and 183S his Gleanings 
in, Europe, France, and Italy, each occupying 
two duodecimo volumes. The series formi a 
pleasant record of his wanderings, of the distin- 
guished men whose friendship he enjoyed, and of 
the public event! which he witnessed, and in 
some instances was himself participant, and con- 
tains ingenious criticism on the social and political 
characteristics of the several countries. 

In 18i0, while still iu the midst of his libel 
suits, as if to re-assert his literary claims as well 
as personal rights, he returned to his old and 
strong fiol I of literary exertion by the publication 
of The Pathfinder, a tale which introduces us 
again to the scenes, and many of the personages 
of The Last of the Mohica-is. It was followed — 
the novel of Mercedes of Castile intervening — in 
184-1, by The Deerslayer. The scene of thi3 
fiction is 1 lid on the Otsego lake and its vicinity 
in the middle of the last century. It abounds in 
fine descriptions of the scenery of the region, 
then in its primeval wildne-s, and succeeds ad- 
mirably in making the reader at home in the life 
of the pioneer. Many of the incidents of the 
tale take place iu the ark or floating habitation 
of Tom Ilntter, the solitary white denizen of the 
region, who has constructed and adopted this 
floating fortress as a precaution against the In- 
dians. His family consists of two daughters, 
Judith and Hetty, in whose characters the author 
lias contra ted great mental vigor combined with 
lax moral principle, to enfeebled intellect strength- 
ened by unswerving rectitude. The^e sisters are 
among the most successful of the author's female 
portraits. Deerslayer's course in the fiction is 
intended still further to enforce the same great 
truth of the strength afforded by a simple straight- 
forward integrity. It is a noble picture of true 

Deerslayer appears in tins novel in early 
youth, and the work is, therefore, now that the 
Leather-stocking series is completed, to be re- 
garded as that in which he commences his career. 
This character will always interest the world, 
both from its essential ingredients, and the novel 
circum stances in which it exhibits itself. It is the 
author's ideal of a chivalresque manhood, of the 
grace which is the natural flower of purity 'and vir- 
tue; not the stoic, but the Christian of the woods, 
the man of honorable act and sentiment, of courage 
and truth. Leather-stocking stands half way be- 
tween savage and civilized life: he has the fresh- 
ness of nature and the first fruits of Christianity, 
the seed dropped into the vigorous soil. These 
are the elements of one of the most original cha- 
racters in fiction, in whom Cooper has transplanted 
all the chivalry ever feigned or practised in the 
middle ages, to the rivers, woods, and forests of 
the unbroken New World. 

Deerslayer, in point of style, is one of Cooper's 
purest composite ins. There are passages of Saxon 
in the dialogues and speeches which would do 
honor to the most admired pages of the romantic 
old Chroniclers. The language is as noble as 
the thought. 

It is a singular proof of the extent to which 
the newspaper quarrels to which we have al- 



luded had interfered with Cooper's position as 
a literary man, that the Pathfinder and the 
Deerslayer, two of the very best of his pro- 
ductions, attracted but little attention on their 
first appearance, for which we have the author's 
authority in his prefaces to the revised edi- 

In 1842 Cooper issued two sea novels, The Two 
Admirals, and Wing and Wing, both spirited 
tales of naval conflict, in which the ships share 
the vitality in the reader's imagination of the 
"little Ariel" of the Pilot. 

Wyandotte ; or, the Hutted Knoll, appeared in 
1843. In this tale Cooper again returns to the 
Otsego. It narrates the settlement of an English 
family in the vicinity of the lake about the com- 
mencement of the Revolution, and abounds in 
quiet scenes of sylvan beauty, and incidents of a 
calmer character than are usual in the author's 

The Autohiography of a Pocket-Handkerchief, 
a short tale, originally published from month to 
month in Graham's Magazine, followed. Ned 
Myers, a more characteristic production, appeared 
about the same time. In this the author gives 
the veritable adventures of an old shipmate, 
taken down from his own lips. It abounds in 
striking scenes, which rival in intensity those of 
his professed fictions. ■ 

Cooper's novels followed in rapid succession 
during the latter period of his life. With his cus- 
tomary spirit he adanted himself to the publish- 
ing fashion introduced by the system of cheap 
reprints, and brought out his new works in 
twenty-five cent volumes. 

Afloat and Ashore, and Miles Wallingford, its 
sequel, also tales of the sea, followed. 

In 1844 the author published A Review of the 
Mackenzie Case, a severe comment on the course 
of the commander of the Somers. 

His next novel, Satanstoe, published in 1845, 
was the first of a series designedly written to 
denounce the anti-rent doctrines which then at- 
tracted much public notice. The scene of Satans- 
toe is laid in the district in which the outrages 
connected with this question took place, and the 
time of the action carries us back to the middle 
of the last century, and the early settlement of 
the region. In the second of the series, The 
Chain Bearer, we have the career of the Little- 
page family carried down to the second gene- 
ration at the close of the Revolution. In the 
third and concluding portion, The Redskins; or, 
Indian and Ingin, we come close upon the pre- 
sent day. The style of these fictions is ener- 
getic, but they fall short of his earlier produc- 
tions in the delineation of character and interest. 
The treatment of the questions of law involved 
in the progress of the argument has been pro- 
nounced masterly by a competent authority.* 

Inl846 Oooper published Lives of Distinguished 
American Naval Officers, a series of biographical 
sketches written for Graham's Magazine. 

The Crater; or, Vulcan's Peak, followed in 
1847. The scene of this story is on the shores 
of the Pacific. It has little to do with real 
life, the hero being wrecked on a reef, which, 
by supernatural machinery, is peopled with an 

* Bryant's I iscourse, p. 66. 

Utopian community, giving the author an oppor- 
tunity to exhibit his views of government. 

Oak Openings ; or, the Bee Hunter, a story of 
woodland life, appeared in the same year. 

Jack Tier; or, the Florida Reef, was published 
in 1848, from the pages of Graham's Magazine, a 
story of the sea, resembling in its points of inte- 
rest the Water -Wite h. 

The last of the long series of these ocean nar- 
ratives, The Sea Lions ; or, the Lost Sealers, opens 
on the coast of Suffolk county, Long Island, and 
transports us to the Antarctic Ocean, in whose 
" thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice" the author 
finds ample scope for his descriptive powers. 
The two ships, the "Sea Lions," pass the winter 
looked in the ice, and their crews endure the 
usual mishaps and perils of the region, from which 
they escape in the following summer. 

Cooper's last novel appeared in 1850. It was 
entitled The Ways of the Hour, and designed to 
exhibit the evils in the author's opinion of trial 
by jury. 

Soon after the publication of this work, Cooper, 
whose personal appearance excited universal re- 
mark, from the robust strength and health it 
exhibited, was attacked by disease. This, while 
it wasted his frame, did not diminish his energy. 
He had in press an historical work on The 
Toions of Manhattan, and in contemplation a 
sixth Leather-stocking tale, when his disease, 
gaining strength, developed into a dropsy, which 
closed his life at his country estate at Coopers- 
town, September 14, 1851, on the eve of his sixty- 
second birthday. 

A public meeting was held in honor of his 
memory in the city of New York, and as preli- 
minary to the attempt to raise a fund for a monu- 
ment for the same purpose, at Metropolitan Hall, 
Feb. 24, 1852. Daniel Webster presided, and 
made his last address to a New York assemblage. 
A discourse was read by Wm. C. Bryant, to 
which we have been largely indebted in the pre- 
paration of the present sketch. 

Otsego Hall. 

Mr. Cooper's residence at Otsego, to which he 
removed after his return from Europe, passed out 
of the hands of his family after his death, was 
converted into a hotel, and consumed by fire in 
the spring of 1853. 

Cooper was the first American author who 
attained a wide popular reputation beyond the 



limits of his own language. His novels were 
translated as soon as tliey appeared in the prin- 
cipal countries of Europe, where the Indian tales 
especially were universal favorites. His delinea- 
tion of the aboriginal character was a novelty 
which gained him a hearing, and the attention 
thus obtained was secured and extended by his 
vivid pictures of the forest and the frontier. 
These are topics akin in novel interest in the old 
world to ruined abbeys and castles in the new. 
Scott had worked the latter field to an extent 
that lessened the public interest in such scenes 
when treated by any but himself. Cooper wisely 
chose a new path, which he could make and hold 
as his own. He tried and succeeded. 

The novels of Scott set the antiquaries to work 
rubbing the rust off old armor, and brushing 
the dust from many an old folio, and illustrating 
many a well-nigh forgotten chapter of history; 
and the productions of Cooper have rendered a 
like service. He has thrown a poetic atmosphere 
around the departing race of the Red men, which, 
if it cannot stay their destiny, will do much to 
fix their place in history. 

In his personal character Cooper presents to 
us a manly resolute nature, of an independent 
mood, aggressive, fond of the attack ; conscious 
of the strength which had led him to choose his 
own path in the world and triumph. He never 
exerted his power, however, but in some chival- 
rous cause. In Europe he battled for republican- 
ism ; in America he was punctilious for the per- 
sonal virtues which grow up under an aristocracy. 
It would have been as well, perhaps, if he had 
sometimes been silent and waited for time to 
remedy the evils which he contended with ; but 
this was not his nature. He had great powers, 
to which something should have been conceded 
by others, and it wjuld have been better for the 
others as well as for him. The egotism of such 
a man, if not inevitable, is at lea it venial. 

It was easy for those at a distance to sneer at 
alleged weaknesses ; but tho-e who knew him 
well, his family, his friends — and what noble men 
they were, in the highest stations of trust and 
confidence in the country — found new demands 
for sympathy anl admiration in Cooper's society. 
"With his intimates he was gay, frank, and warm- 
hearted; fond of the society of children; full 
of sport and merriment from his youth through 

Miss Susan Cooper, the daughter of the novelist, 
is the author of two volumes of merit. Rural 
Homes, published in 1850, is a felicitous journal 
of country life, describing the scenery and charac- 
ter about her residence at Cooperstown, with 
minute observation, and with noticeable sincerity 
of style. The Rhyme and Reason of Country 
Life, published in 1834, is a choice collection of 
passages from the best authors, in prose and verse, 
who have treated rural themes, accompanied by 
just and sympathetic original comments. 


While the young cornet still continued gazing at 
the whale-boat (for it was the party from the 
schooner that he saw), the hour expired for the ap- 
pearance of Griffith and his companions; and Barn- 
etable reluctantly determined to comply witli the 
letter of his instructions, and leave them to their 

own sagacity and skill to regain the Ariel. Tho 
boat had been suffered to ride in the edge of the 
surf, since the appearance of the sun ; and the eyes 
of her crew were kept anxiously fixed on the cliffs, 
though in vain, to discover the sigual that was to 
call them to the place of landing. After looking at 
his watch for the twentieth time, and as often casting 
glances of uneasy dissatisfaction towards the shore, 
the lieutenant exclaimed — 

"A charming prospect, this, Master Coffin, but 
rather too much poetry in it for your taste ; I be- 
lieve you relish no land that is of a harder consist- 
ency than mud!" 

" I was born on the waters, sir," returned the 
cockswain, from his snug abode, where lie was be- 
stowed with his usual economy of room, " and it's 
according to all things for a man to love his native 
soil. I'll not deny, Captain Barnstable, but I would 
rather drop my anchor on a bottom that won't broom 
a keel, though, at the same time, I harbour no great 
malice against dry land." 

" I shall never forgive it, myself, if any accident 
has befallen Griffith in this excursion," rejoined tho 
lieutenant ; " his Pilot may be a better man oa the 
water than on terra firma, long Tom." 

The cockswain turned his solemn visage, with an 
extraordinary meaning, towards his commander, be- 
fore he replied — 

" For as long a time as I have followed the wa- 
ters, sir, and that has been ever since I've drawn my 
rations, seeing that I was born while the boat was 
crossing Nantucket shoals, I've never known a Pilot 
come off in greater need, than the one we fell in 
with, when we made that stretch or two on the land, 
in the dogwatch of yesterday." 

"Ay! the fellow has played his part like a man; 
the occasion was great, and it seems that he was 
quite equal to his work." 

" The frigate's people tell me, sir, that he handled 
the ship like a top," continued the cockswain ; " but 
she is a ship that is a nateral inimy of the bottom !" 

" Can you s:iy as much for this boat, Master 
Coffiu ?" cried Barnstable: "keep her out of tho 
surf, or you'll have us rolling in upon the beach, 
presently, like an empty water-cask; you must re- 
member that we cannot all wade, like yourself, in 
two-fathom water." 

The cockswain cast a cool glance at the crests of 
foam that were breaking over the tops of the bil- 
lows, within a few yards of where their boat was 
riding, and called aloud to his men— 

" Pull a stroke or two ; away with her into dark 

The drop of the oars resembled the movements of 
a nice machine, and the light boat skimmed along 
the water like a duck, that approaches to the very 
brink of some imminent danger, and then avoids it, 
at the most critical moment, apparently without an 
effort. While this necessary movement was making, 
Barnstable arose, and surveyed the cliffs with keen 
eyes, and then turning once more in disappointment 
from his search, he said — 

" Pull more from the land, and let her run down 
at an easy stroke to the schooner. Keep a look-out 
at the cliffs, boys ; it is possible that they are 6towed 
in some of the holes in the rocks, for it's no daylight 
business they are on." 

The order was promptly obeyed, and they had 
glided along for nearly a mile in this manner, in the 
most profound silence, when suddenly the still- 
ness was broken by a heavy rush of air, and a.. 
dash of water, seemingly at no great distance from 

" By heaven, Tom," cried Barnstable, starting, 
" there is the blow of a whale ?" 



" Ay, ay, sir," returned the cockswain -with undis- 
turbed composure ; " here is his spout not half a 
mile to seaward; the easte:ly gale has driven the 
creaier to leeward, and he begins to find himself in 
shoal water. He's been Bleeping; while he should 
have been world: g to windward !" 

" The fellow takes it coolly, too ! he's in no hurry 
to get an ofm g !" 

"I rather conclude, sir," said the cockswain, rolling 
over Lis tobacco in his mouth, very composedly, 
while his little sunken eyes began to twinkle with 
pleasure at the sight, "the gentleman has lost his 
reckoning, and don't know which way to head to 
take himself back into bine water." 

",Tis a fin-back!" exclaimed the lieutenant ; "he 
will soon make head-way, and be off." 

"Ko, sir, 'tis a light whale," answered Tom; "I 
saw his spout ; he threw up a pair of as pretty rain- 
bows as a Christian would wish to look at. lie's a 
raal oil-butt, that fellow !" 

Barnstable laughed, turned himself away from the 
tempting sight, and tried to look at the cliffs; and 
then unconsciously bent his loi ging eyes again on 
the sluggish animal, who was throwing his lmge 
carcass, at times, for many feet f, om the water, in 
idle gambols. The temptation for sport, and the re- 
collection of his early habits, at length pre\ ailed 
over his anxiety in behalf of his friends, and the 
your.g officer enquired of his cockswain — 

" Is there any whale-line in the boat, to make fast 
to that harpoon which you bear about with you in 
fair weather or foul ?" 

" I never trust the boat from the schooner without 
part of a shot, sir," returned the cockswain ; " there 
is something nateral in the sight of a tub to my old 

Barnstable looked at his wateh, and again at the 
cliffs, when he exclaimed, in joyous tones — ■ 

"Give strong way, my hearties! There seems 
nothing better to be done ; let us have a stroke of a 
harpoon at that impudent rascal." 

The men shouted spontaneously, and the old cock- 
swain suffered his solemn visage to relax into a small 
laugh, while the whale-boat spiang forward like a 
courser for the goal. Duiii g the few minutes they 
were pulling towards their game, long Tom arose 
from his erouchh g attitude in the stern-sheets, and 
transferred his huge form to the bows of the boat, 
where he made such preparations to strike the whale 
as the occasion required. The tub, containii g about 
half of a whale line, was placed at the feet of Barn- 
stable, who had been preparing an oar to steer with 
in place of the rudder, which was unshipped, in 
order that, if necessary, the boat might be whirled 
round when not advancing. 

Their approach was utterly unnoticed by the 
monster of the deep, who continued to amuse himself 
with throwing the water in two circular spouts high 
into the air, occasionally flourishii g the broad flukes 
of his tail with a graceful but terrific force, until the 
hardy seamen were within a few hundred feet of him, 
when he suddenly cast his head downward, and, 
without an apparent effort, reared his immense body 
for many feet above the water, waving his tail vio- 
lently, and producing a whizzing noise, that Bounded 
like the rushing of winds. 

The cockswain stood erect, poising bis harpoon, 
ready for the blow; but when he beheld the crea- 
ture assume this formidable attitude, he waved his 
hand to his commander, who instantly signed to his 
men to cease rowing. In this situation the sports- 
men rested a few moments, while the whale 6truck 
several blows on the water in rapid succession, the 
noise of which re-eehoed along the cliffs, like the 
hollow reports of so many cannon. After this wanton 

exhibition of his terrible strength, the monster sank 
again into his native element, and slowly disappeared 
fioin the eyes of his pursuers. 

" Which way did he head, Tom ?" cried Barn- 
stable, the moment the whale was out of sight. 

"Pretty much up and down, sir," returned the 
cockswain, whose eye was gradually brightening 
with the ex.itement of the sport; "he'll soon run 
his nose against the bottom if he stands loi g on that 
course, and will be glad to get another snuii of pure 
air; send her a few fathoms to starboard, sir, and 
I promise we shall not be out of his ti aik." 

The conjecture of the experienced old seaman 
proved true ; for in a few moments the water bioko 
near them, and another spout was east into the air, 
when the animal lu.-hed for half his length in 
the same direction, and fell on the sea with a tuibu- 
lence and foam equal to that which is produced by 
the launchii g of a vessel, for the first time, into its 
proper element. Afterthis evolution the whale rolled 
heavily, and seemed to rest fiom further efforts. 

His slightest movements were closely watched by 
Barnstable and his cockswain, ai.d when lie was in 
a state of comparative rest, the former gave a signal 
to his crew to ply their oars 01 ee more. A few long 
and vigorous strokes sent the boat directly up to the 
broadside of the whale, with its bows pointing to- 
wards one of the fins, which was, at time6, as the 
animal yielded sluggishly to the action of the waves, 
exposed to view. The cockswain poised his haipoon 
with much pi ecision, and then darted it from him 
with a violence that buried the iron in the blubber 
of their foe. The instant the blow was »..ade, long 
Tom shouted, with singular earnestness — 

" Starn all !" 

"Stern all!" echoed Barnstable; when the cbc- 
dient seamen, by united efforts, forced the boat in a 
backward direction beyond the reach of any blow 
from their formidable antagonist. The alarmed ani- 
mal, however, meditated no such lesistaice; igno- 
rant of his own power, and of the insignificance of 
his enemies, he soi glit refuge in flight. One moment 
of stupid surprise succeeded the entrance of the iron, 
when he cast his huge tail the air, with a vio- 
lence that threw the sea around him into increased 
commotion, and then disappeared with the quickness 
of lightning, amid a eloud of foam. 

"Snub him!" shouted Barnstable; "hold on, 
Tom ; he rises already." 

"Ay, ay, sir," replied the composed cockswain, 
scizii g the line, which was running out of the boat 
with a velocity that rendered such a manoeu- 
vre rather hazardous, and causing it to yield more 
gradually round the large loggerhead that was 
placed in the bows of the boat for that purpose. 
Presently the line stretched forward, ai d rising to 
the surface with tremulous vibrations, it indicated 
the diieetion in which the animal might be expected 
to re-appear. Barnstable had cast the bows of the 
boat towards that point, before the terrified and 
wounded victim rose once more to the surface, whose 
time was, however, no longer wasted in his sports, 
but who cast the waters aside, as he forced his way, 
with prodigious velocity, along the surface. The 
boat was dragged violently in his wake, and cut 
through the billows with a terrific rapidity, that at 
moments appeared to bury the slight fabric in the 
ocean. When long Tom beheld his victim throwing 
his spouts on high again, he pointed with exultation 
to the jetting fluid, which was streaked with the 
deep red of blood, and cried — 

"Ay! I've touched the fellow's life! it must he 
more than two foot of blubber that stops my iron 
from reaching the life of any whale that ever sculled 
the ocean!" 



" I believe you have saved yourself the trouble of 
using the bayonet you have rigged for a lance," said 
his commander, who entered imo the sport with all 
the ardour of one whose youth had been chiefly 
passed in such pursuits: "feel your line, Master 
Coffin ; can we haul alongside of our enemy? I like 
not the course he is steering, as he tows us from the 

" "lis the creater's way, sir," said the cockswain ; 
" you know they need the air in their nostrils, when 
they run, the same as a man ; but lay hold, boys, and 
let's haul up to him." 

The seamen now seized the whale-line, and slowly 
drew their bo it to witliiu a few feet of the tail 
of the fish, whose progress became sensibly less 
rapid, as he grew weak with the loss of blood. In 
a few minutes he stopped running, and appeared 
to roll uneasily oil the water, as if sintering the agony 
of death. 

"Shall we pull in, and finish him, Tom?" cried 
Ba'ni -table ; '" A few sets from your ba3 7 onet would 
do i:." 

The cockswain stood examining his game with 
cool discretion, and replied to this interrogatory — 

" No, sir, no — lie's going into his flurry ; there's 
no occasion for disgracing ourselves by usiig a sol- 
dier's weapon in taking a whale. Starn oil, sir, starn 
off! the creater's in his flurry!" 

The warning of the prudent cockswain was 
promptly obeyed, and the boat cautiously drew off 
to a distance, leaving to the animal a clear space, 
while under its dying agonies. From a state of per- 
fect rest, the terrible monster threw its tail on high, 
as when in sport, but its blows were trebled in vapi- 
dity and violence, till all was hid from view by a of foam, that was deeply dyed with blond. 
Tne roarings of the fish were like the bellowing of a 
herd of bulls; and to one who was ignorant of the 
fact, it would have appeared as if a thousand mon- 
sters were engaged in deadly combat, behind the 
bloody mist that obstructed the view. Gradually, 
these effects subsided, and when the discoloured 
water again settled down to the long and regular 
swell of the ocean, the fish was seen, exhausted, and 
yiel ling passively to its fate. As life departed, the 
enormous black mass rolle .1 to o .e side; and when 
the white and glisteni..g skin of the belly became 
apparent, the seamen wed knew that their victory 
wa; achieved. 

" What's to be done now ?" said Barnstable, as he 
stood and gazed with a diminished excitement at 
their victim ; " he will 3"ield no food, and his carcass 
wid probably drift to land, and furnish our enemies 
with the oil." 

" If I had but that creater in Boston Bay," said 
the cockswain, " it would prove the making of me; 
but such is my luck for ever ! Pull up, at any rate, 
and let me get my harpoon and line — -the Englisb 
shall never get them while old Tom Coffin can 


By this time they had gained the summit of the 
mountain, where they left the highway, and pursued 
their course under the shade of the stately trees that 
crowned the eminence. The day was becoming 
warm, -and the girls plunged more deeply into the 
forest, as they found its invigorating coolness agree- 
ably contrasted to the excessive heat they had ex- 
perienced in the ascent. The conversation, as if by 
mutual consent, was entirely changed to the little 
incidents and scenes of their walk, and every tall 
pine, and every shrub or flower, called forth some 
simple expression of admiration. 

In this manner they proceeded along the margin 

of the precipice, catching occasional glimpses of the 
placid Otsego, or pausing to listen to the rattling of 
wheels and the sounds of hammers, that rose from 
the valley, to mingle the signs of men with the scenes 
of nature, when Llizabcth suddenly started, and ex- 
claimed — 

" Listen ! there are the cries of a child on this 
mountain ! is there a clearing near us ? or can some 
little one have strayed from its parents?" 

"Such things frequently happen," returned Lou- 
isa. " Let us follow the sounds: it may be a wan- 
derer starving on the hill." 

Urged by this consideration, the females pursued 
the low, mournful sounds, that proceeded from the 
forest, with quick and impatient steps. More than 
once, the ardent Elizabeth was on the point of an- 
nouncing that she saw the sufferer, when Louisa 
caught ner by the arm, and pointing behind them, 
cried — 

" Look at the dog !" 

Brave had been their companion, from the time 
the voice of his young mistress lured him from his 
kennel, to the present moment. His advanced age 
had long before deprived him of his activity; and 
when his companions stopped to view the scenery, 
or to add to their bouquets, the mastiff would lay 
his huge frame on the ground, and await their move- 
ments, with his eves closed, and a listlcssness in his 
air that ill accorded with the character of a pro- 
tector. But when, aroused by this cry from Louisa, 
Miss Temple turned, she saw the dog with his eyes 
keenly set on some distant object, his head bent near 
the ground, and his hair actually rising on his body, 
through fright or a ger. It was most probably the 
latter, for he was growling in a low key, and occa- 
sionally showing his teeth, in a manner that w r ould 
have terrified his mistress, had she not so well known 
his good qualities. 

"Brave!" she said, "be quiet, Brave! what do 
you see, fellow ?" 

At the sounds of her voice, the rage of the mas- 
tiff, instead of beii g at all diminished, was very sen- 
sibly increased. He stalked in front of the ladies, 
and seated himself at the feet of his mistress, growl- 
ing louder than before, and occasionally giving vent 
to his ire, by a short, surly bai ki. g. 

" What does he see i" said Elizabeth : " there 
must be some animal in sight." 

Hearing no answer from her companion, Miss 
Temple turned her head, and beheld Louisa, stand- 
ing with her face whitened to the color of death, 
and her finger pointing upwards, with a sort of 
flickering, convulsed motion. The quick eye of Eli- 
zabeth glanced in the direction indicated by her 
friend, where she saw the fierce front and glaring 
eyes of a female panther, fixed on them in horrid 
malignity, and threateni. g to leap. 

"Let ns fly," exclaimed Elizabeth, grasping the 
arm of Louisa, whose form yielded like melting snow. 

There was not a single feeling in the temperament 
of Elizabeth Temple that could prompt her to desert 
a companion in such an extremity. She fell on her 
knees, by the side of the inanimate Louisa, tearing 
from the person of her friend, with instinctive readi- 
ness, such parts of her dress as might obstruct her 
respiration, and encouraging their only safeguard, 
the dog, at the same time, by the sounds of her voice. 
" Courage, Brave!" she cried, her own tones be- 
ginning to tremble, " courage, courage, good Brave !" 

A quarter-grown cub, that had hitherto been un- 
seen, now appeared, droppirg from the branches of 
a sapling that grew under the shade of the beech 
which held its dam. This ignorant, but vicious crea^ 
ture, approached the dog, imitating the actions and 
sounds of its parent, but exhibiting a strange mix- 



ture of the plaj-fulness of a kitten with the ferocity 
of its race, Standing on its hind legs, it would rend 
the bark of a tree with its fore paw*, and play the 
antics of a cat; and then, by lashing itself with its 
tail, growling, and scratching the earth, it would 
attempt the manifestations of ai.ger that rendered 
its parent so terrific. 

All this time Bravo stood firm and undaunted, his 
short tail erect, his body drawn backward on its 
haunches, and his eyes following the movements of 
both dam and cub. At every gambol played by the 
latter, it approached nigher to the dog, the growl- 
ing of the three becoming more horrid at each mo- 
ment, until the younger beast overleaping its in- 
tended bound, fell directly before the mastiff. There 
was a moment of fearful cries and struggles, but 
they ' ended almost as soon as commenced, by the 
cub appearing iii the air, hurled from the jaws of 
Brave, with a violence that sent it against a tree so 
forcibly as to render it completely senseless. 

Elizabeth witnessed the short struggle, and her 
blood was warming with the triumph of the dog, 
when she saw the form of the old panther in the air, 
springing twenty feet from the branch of the beech 
to the back of the mastiff. No words of ours can de- 
scribe the fury of the conflict that followed. It was 
a confused struggle on the dry leaves, accompanied 
by loud and terrific cries. Miss Temple continued 
on her knees, bending over the form of Louisa, her 
eyes fixed on the animals, with an interest so horrid, 
and yet so intense, that she almost forgot her own 
etake in the result. So rapid and vigorous were the 
bounds of the inhabitant of the forest, that its active 
frame seemed constantly in the air, while the dog 
nobly faced his foe at each successive leap. 'When 
the panther lighted on the shoulders of the mastiff, 
which was its constant aim, old Brave, though torn 
with her talons, and stained with his own blood, 
that already flowed from a dozen wounds, would 
6hake off his furious foe like a feather, and rearing 
on his hind legs, rush to the fray again, with jaws 
distended, and a dauntless eye. But age, and his 
pampered life, greatly disqualified the noble mastiff 
for such a struggle. In everythii g but coinage, he 
was only the vestige of what he had once been. A 
higher bound than ever raised the wary and furious 
beast far beyond the reach of the dog, who was 
making a desperate but fruitless dash at her, from 
which she alighted in a favorable position, on the 
back of her aged foe. For a single moment only 
could the panther remain there, the great strength 
of the dog returning with a convulsive effort. But 
Elizabeth saw, as Brave fastened his teeth in the 
side of his enemy, that the collar of brass around 
his neck, which had been glittering throughout the 
fray, was of the color of blood, and directly, that his 
frame was sinking to the earth, where it soon lay 
prostrate and helpless. Several mighty efforts of 
the wild-cat to extricate herself from the jaws of the 
dog followed, but they were fruitless, until the mas- 
tiff turned on his back, his lips coDapsed, and his 
teeth loosened, when the short convulsions and still- 
ness that ensued, announced the death of poor 

Elizabeth now lay wholly at the mercy of the 
beast. There is said to be something in the front of 
the image of the Maker that daunts the hearts of 
the inferior beings of his creation ; and it would 
seem that some such power, in the present instance, 
suspended the threatened blow. The eyes of the 
monster and the kneeling maiden met for an instant, 
when the former stooped to examine her fallen foe ; 
next to scent her luckless cub. From the latter ex- 
amination, it turned, however, with its eyes appa- 
rently emitting flashes of fire, its tail lashing its 

sides furiously, and its claws projecting inches from 
her broad feet. 

Miss Temple did not or could not move. Her 
hands were clasped in the attitude of prayer, but 
her eyes were still drawn to her terrible enemy — 
her cheeks were blanched to the whiteness of mar- 
ble, and her lips were slightly separated with horror. 

The moment seemed now to have arrived for the 
fatal termination, and the beautiful figure of Eliza- 
beth was bowing meekly to the stioke, when a 
rustling of leaves behind seemed rather to mock the 
organs than to meet her ears. 

"Hist! hist!" said alow voice, "steep lower, gal; 
your bonnet hides the ereater's head." 

It was rather the yielding of nature than a com- 
pliance with this unexpected order, that caused the 
head of our heroine to sink on her bosom ; when 
she heard the report of the rifle, the whizzing of the 
bullet, and the enraged cries of the beast, who was 
rolling over on the earth biting its own flesh, and 
tearing the twigs and branches within its reach. At 
the next instant the foim of the Leather-stocking 
rushed by her, and he called alond — 

" Come in, Hector, come in, old fool ; 'tis a hard- 
lived animal, and may jump ag'in." 

Katty fearlessly maintained his position in front 
of the females, notwithstandii g the violent bounds 
and threatening aspect of the wounded panther, 
which gave several indications of returnirg strength 
and ferocity, until his rifle was again loaded, when 
he stepped up to the enraged animal, and placing 
the muzzle close to its head, every spark of life was 
extinguished by the dischaige. 


By this time the piece was reloaded, and Beer- 
slayer, after tossii g the tomahawk into the canoe, 
advanced to his victim, and stood over him, leaning 
on his rifle, in melancholy attention. It was the first 
instance in which he had seen a man fall in battle. 
It was the first fellow creature against whom he had 
ever seriously raised his own hand. The sensations 
were novel ; and regret, with the freshness of our bet- 
ter feelings, mirgled with his triumph. The Indian 
was not dead, though shot directly through the body. 
He lay on his back motionless, but his eyes, row 
full of consciousness, watched each action of his 
victor — as the fallen bird regards the fowler — jealous 
of every movement. The man probably expected 
the fatal blow which was to precede the loss of his 
scalp ; or perhaps he anticipated that this latter act 
of cruelty would piecede his death. Deeislnyer 
read his thoughts ; and he found a melancholy satis- 
faction in relieving the apprehensions of the helpless 

" So, no, red-skin," he said ; " you've nothing more 
to fear from me. I am of a Christian stock, and 
scalping is not of my gifts. I'll just make sartain 
of your rifle, and then come back and do you what 
sarvice I can. Though hei e I can't stay much longer, 
as the crnck of three rifles will be apt to bring some 
of your devils down upon me." 

The close of this was said in a sort of soliloquy, 
as the yourg man went in quest of the fallen rifle. 
The piece was found where its owner had dropped 
it, and was immediately put into the canoe. Laying 
his own rifle at its side, Deerslayer then returned 
and stood over the Indian again. 

"All inmity atween you and me's at an ind, red- 
skin," he said ; "and you may set your heart at rest 
on the score of the scalp, or any further injury. My 
gifts are white, as I've told you ; and I hope my 
conduct will be white also !" 

Could looks have conveyed all they meant, it is 
probable Beerslayer's innocent vanity on the subject 



of color would have been rebuked a liHle.; but lie 
co up ehe.ide 1 the gratitude Unit was expressed in 
the eyes of the dying savage, without in the least 
detecting the bitter sarcasm that struggled with the 
better feeling. 

" Water !" ejaculated the thirsty and unfortunate 
creature; "give poor Iujin water." 

" Aye, water 3-011 shall have, if you drink the lake 
dry. I'll just carry you down to it, that you may 
take your (ill. This is the way, th'ey tell me, with 
all wounded people — water is their greatest comfort 
ami delight." 

So saying, Deerslayer raised the Indian in his 
arms, aid earned him to the lake. Here he first 
helped him to tike an attitude in which he could 
appease his burning thirst; after which he seated 
himself on a stone, and took the head of his wounded 
adversary in his own lap, and endeavored to soothe 
bis ai'g lish in the best manner he could. 

"It would be sinful in me to tell you your time 
hadn't come, warrio -," he commenced, " and there- 
fore I'll not say it. You've passe 1 the middle age 
already, and, consideriu' the sort of lives ye lead, 
your days have been pretty well filled. The prin- 
cipal thing now, is to look forward to what conies 
next. Neither red-skin nor pale-face, o:i the whole, 
calculates much on sleepi.i' for ever; but both ex- 
pect to live in another world. Each has his gifts, 
and will be judg.'d by 'em, and I suppose, you've 
thought these matters over enough, not to stand in 
need of sarmons when the trial comes. You'll find 
your hippy hunting-grounds, if you've been a just 
Injiu ; if an onjust, you'll meet your departs in ano- 
ther way. I've my own idces about these things ; 
but you're too old and exper'e iced to need any ex- 
planations from one as young as I." 

"Good!" ejaculate! the Indian, whose voice re- 
taine 1 its depth even as life ebbed away ; " young 
bead — ole wisdom!" 

" It's sometimes a consolation, when the ind comes, 
to know that them we've harmed, or tried to harm, 
forgive us. I suppose natur' seeks this relief, by 
way of getting a pardon on 'arth : as we never can 
know whether He pardons, who is all in all, till 
judgment itself comes. It's soothing to know that 
any pardon at such times; and that, I conclude, is 
the secret. Now, as for myself, I overlook altogether 
your designs ag'in my life : first, because no harm 
came of 'em ; next, because it's your gifts, and natur', 
and trainiu', and I ought not to have trusted you 
at all; and, finally and chiefly, because I can bear 
no ill-will to a dying man, whether heathen or 
Christian. So put your heart at ease, so far as I'm 
consarned ; you know best what other matters ought 
to trouble you, or what ought to give you satisfac- 
tion in so trying a moment." 

It is probable that the Indian had some of the 
fearful glimpses of the unknown state of being 
which God in mercy seems at times to afford to all 
the human race; but they were necessarily in con- 
formity with his habits and prejudices. Like most 
of his people, and like too many of our own, he 
thought more of dying in a way to gain applause 
among those he left than to secure a better state of 
existence hereafter. While Deerslayer was speaking 
bis mind was a little bewildered, though he felt that 
the intention was good; and when he had done, a 
regret passed over his spirit that none of his own 
tribe were present to witness his stoicism, under 
extreme bodily suffering, and the firmness with 
which he met his end. With the high innate cour- 
tesy that so often distinguishes the Indian warrior 
before lie becomes eo -rupted by too much intercourse 
with the worst class of the white men, he endeavored 
to express his thankfulness for the other's good inten- 

tions, and to let him understand that they were ap- 

" Good!" he repeated, for this was an English 
word much used , by the savages — " good — young 
head; young heart, top. Old heart tough ; noshed 
tear. Hear Indian when he die, and no want to lie 
—what he call him?" 

" Deerslayer is the name I bear now, though the 
Delawares have said that when I get back from this 
war-path, I shall have a more manly title, provided 
I can 'arn one." 

" That good name for boy — poor name for warrior. 
He get better quick. No fear there" — the savage 
had strength sufficient, under the strong excitement 
he felt, to raise a hand and tap the young man on 
his breast — " eye sartain-i— finger lightning — aim, 
j death — great warrior soon. No Deerslayer — Hawk- 
eye — Hawkeye — Hawkeye. ,Shake hand." 

Deerslayer — or Hawkeye, as the youth was then 
first named, for in after years he bore the appellation 
throughout all that region — Deerslayer took the 
hand of the savage, whose last bre.ith was drawn in 
that attitude, gazing in admiration at the counte- 
nance of a stranger who had shown so much readi- 
ness, skill, and firmness, in a scene that was equally 
trying ami novel. When the reader remembers it is 
the highest gratification an Indian can receive to see 
his enemy betray weakness, he will be be\ttcr able to 
appreciate the conduct which had extorted so great 
a concession at such a moment. 

"His spiiit has fled!" said Deerslayer, inv a sup- 
pressed, melancholy voice. "All's me! Wtell, to 
this we must all come, sooner or later; and .He is 
happiest, let his skin be of wdiat color it may, wiho 
is best fitted to meet it. Here lies the body of no 
doubt a brave warrior, and the soul is already flying 
towards its heaven or hell, whether that be a happy 
hunting-ground, a place scant of game; regions of 
glory, according to Moravian doctrine, or flames of 
fire! So it happens, too, as regards other matters! 
Here have old Hutter and Hurry Harry got them- 
selves into difficulty, if they hav'u't got themselves 
into torment and death, and all for a bounty that 
luck offers to me in what many would think a law- 
ful and suitable manner. But not a farthing of such 
money shall cross my hand. White I was born, and 
white will I die ; clinging to color to the last, even 
though the King's Majesty, his governors, and all his 
councils, both at liome and in the Colonies, forget 
from what they come, and where they hope to go, 
and nil for a little advantage in warfare. No, no — 
warrior, hand of mine shall never molest your scalp, 
and so your soul may rest in peace on the point of 
making a decent appearance, when the body comes 
to join it, in your own land of spirits." 

Deerslayer arose as soon as he had spoken. Then 
he placed the body of the dead man in a sitting 
posture, with its back against the little rock, taking 
the necessary care to prevent it from falling or in 
any way settling into an attitude that might be 
thought unseemly by the sensitive, though wild no- 
tions of a savage. When this duty was performed, 
the young man stood gazing at the grim countenance 
of his fallen foe, iu a sort of melancholy abstraction, 


The ancestors of James A. Hillhouse emigrated 
from the county Derry, Ireland, where the family 
had long held a high social position, to the colony 
of Connecticut in 1720. The grandfather and 
father of the poet were both men of standing and 
influence, the one having been employed for half 
a century in the public service of the colony, and 
the other having occupied a seat in both branches 



of the Federal Legislature, at periods not long 
after the Kevolution. He married a daughter of 
Colonel Melancthon Woolsey, of Dosoris, Long 
Island, a lady of great refinement, beauty, and 
strength of mind and character. Their son, 
James, was horn at New Haven, September 20, 
1789. He wat> remarkable in hi * boyhood for his 
strength and dexterity in athletic exercises, and 
for the grace of. his deportment. He entered 
Yale College in his fifteenth year, and maintained 
a high rank in hisl studies, and particularly in 
English composition? Upon taking his Master's 
degree, he delivered an oration on The Education 
of a Poet, which was so much admired that it 
obtained him an invitation to deliver a poem at 
the next anniversary oT the Phi Beta Kappa So- 
ciet}-. In fulfilment of this appointment he 
produced The Jud-tmeiit, in 1812. Though a 
topic baffling all ,!uumau intelligence, the poet 
treated its august incidents as tliey are por- 
trayed in holy writ, with elevation, exerci ing 
his imagination/' on the allowable ground of the 
human emotio/is and the diverse gathering of 
the human race, with a truly poetic description 
of the last c/ening of the expiring world. 

Soon after leaving College, Hillhouse passed 
three years in Boston, in preparation for a mer- 
cantile career. The war proving an interruption 
to his plans, he employed a period of enforced 
leisure in writing Demetria, Percy's Masque, and 
other dramatic compositions. After the peace he 
engaged in commerce in the city of New York, 
and in 1819 visited England, where he saw, among 
other distinguished men, Zacliary Macaulay (the 
father of the historian), who afterwards spoke of 
him to his American friends as " the most 
accomplished young man with whom he was 
acquainted." During this visit he published 
"Percy's Masque," in London. It was at once 
reprinted in this country, and received with great 
favor on both sides of the Atlantic. 

In 1822 he manned Cornelia, the eldest daughter 
of Isaac Lawrence of New York, and soon after 

; removed to a country seat near New Haven, 
| which he called Sachem's Wood, and where, with 
the exception of an annual winter visit of a few 
months to New York, the remainder of his life 
was passed, in the cultivation and adornment of 
his beautiful home, and in literary pursuits and 
studies. These soon produced the ripe fruit of 
his mind, the drama of Hadad, written in 1824, 
and published in 1825. 

In 1839, having carefully revised, he collected 
his previously published works, including several 
orations delivered on various occasions, and a 
domestic tragedy, Demetria, written twenty-six 
years before, in two volumes.* This settlement, 
so to speak, of his literary affairs, was to prove 
the precursor, at no remote interval, of the close 
of his earthly career. Hi friend < had previously 
been alarmed by the symptoms of consumption 
which had impaired his former vigor, and this 
disease assuming a more aggravated form, and 
advancing with great rapidity, put an end to 
his life on the 4th of January, 1841.t 

The prevalent character of the writings of 
Hillhouse is a certain spirit of elegance, which 
characterizes both his prose and poetry; and 
which is allied to the higher themes of passion 
and imagination. He felt deeply, and expressed 
his emotions naturally in the dramatic form. 
His conceptions were submitted to a laborious 
preparation, and took an artistieal shape. Of his 
three dramatic productions, Demetria, an Italian 
tragedy, is a passionate story of perplexed love, 
jealou-y, and intrigue ; Hadad is a highly 
wrought dramatic poem, employing the agency 
of the supernatural; and Percy's Masque, sug- 
gested by an English ballad, Bishop Percy's 
Hermit of Warkworth, an historical romance, 
of much interest in the narrative, the plot being 
highly effective, at the expen-e somewhat of 
character, while the dialogue is tilled with choice 
descriptions of the natural scenery in which the 
piece is cast, and tender sentiment of the lovers. 
That, however, which gained the author most re- 
pute with his contemporaries, and is the highest 
proof of his powers, is the twofold characterization 
of Hadad and Tamar; the supernatural fallen 
angel appearing as the sensual heathen lovir, 
and the Jewish maiden. The dialogue in which 
these personages are displa3 - ed, abounds with rare 
poetical beauties; with lines and imagery worthy 
of the old Elizabethan drama. The description, 
in the conversation between Nathan and Tamar, 
of the associations of Hadad, who is "of the 
blood royal of Damascus," is in a rich imagina- 
tive vein. 

Nathan. I think thou saidst he had surveyed the 

Tamar. 0, father, he can speak 
Of hundred-gated Thebes, towered Babylon, 
And mightier Nineveh, vast Palibothra, 
Serendib anchored by the gates of morning, 
Renowned Benares, where the Suges teach 
The mystery of the soul, and that famed Ilium 
Where fleets and warriors from Elishah's Isles 
Besieged the Beauty, where great Memnon fell : — 

* Dramas, Discourses and other Pieces, by James A. ITilt- 
house. 2 vols. Boston : Littie «fc Brown. 

+ Eveiest's Poets of Connecticut, p. 1C9. An authentic 
family narrative from Bishop Kip, iu Griswold's Poets of 



Of pyramids, temples, and superstitious caves 
Filled with strange symbols of the Deity ; 
Of wondrous mountains, desert-circled seas, 
Isles of the ocean, lovely Paradises, 
Set, like unfading emeralds, in the deep. 

This being, who excites the revolt of Absalom, 
introduced to us at first at the court of David, as 
of an infidel race, practised in "arts inhibited and 
out of warrant," in the end displays his true na- 
ture in the spirit of the tiend, which has ruled 
the designs of the fair Syrian. The softness and 
confiding faith of the Hebrew girl, stronger in 
her religion than her love, triumph over the 
infidel spiritual assaults of lladad ; and in these 
passages of tenderness contrasted with the 
honeyed effrontery of the assailant, and mingled 
with scene* of revolt and battle, Hillhouse has 
displayed some of his finest graces. Perfection, 
in such a literary undertaking, would have tasked 
the powers of a Goethe. As a poetical and 
dramatic >ketch of force and beauty, the author 
of Hadad has not failed in it. The conception is 
handled with dignity, and its defects are concealed 
in the general grace of the style, which is 
polished and refined.* 

The descriptive poem of Sachem's Head is 
an enumeration of the points of historic interest 
and of family association connected with his 
place of residence, sketched in a cheerful vein of 

' Several fine prose compositions close the au- 
thor's collection of his writings. They are a 
Phi Beta Kappa Discourse in 1826, at New 
Haven, On Some of the Considerations which 
should influence an Epic or a Tragic Writer in 
the Choice of an Era ; a Discourse before the 
Brooklyn Lyceum, in 183G, On the Relations of 
Literature to a Republican Government ; and a 
Discourse at New Haven, pronounced by request 
of the Common Council, August 10, 183-t, in 
Commemoration of the Life and Services of 
General La Fayette . —all thoughtful, energetic, 
and polished productions. 

It is pleasant to record the eulog}' of one poet 
by another. Halleck, in his lines "To the Re- 
corder," has thus alluded to Hillhouse : — 

nillhouse, whose music, like his themes, 
Lifts earth to heaven — whose poet dreams 
Are pure and holy as the hymn 
Echoed from harps of seraphim, 
By bards that drank at Ziou's fountains 

When glory, peace and hope were hers, 
And beautiful upon her mountains 

The feet of angel messengers. 

'Willis, too, paid a genial tribute to Hillhouse 
in his poem before the Linouian Society of Yale 
College, delivered a few months after the poet's 
death — in that passage where he celebrates the 
associations of the elm walk of the city. 


By this, the sun his westering car drove low ; 
Round his broad wheel full many a lucid cloud 
Floated, like happy isles, in seas of gold : 
Along the horizon castled shapes were piled, 

* Id a note to one of Coleridge's Lectures on the Personality 
of the Evil Being, &c. (Literary Remains, vol. i. p. 210, 1S36), 
there is a passage given by him as written in a copy of Hadad, 
which offers some suggestion on the use of the " Fallen 
Spirits" in that poem. 

Turrets and towers whose fronts embattled gleamed 

With yellow light : smit by the slanting ray, 

A ruddy beam the canopy reflected ; 

With deeper light the ruby blushed ; and thick 

Upon the Seraphs' wings the glowing spots 

Seemed drops of lire. Uncoiling from its staff 

With fainter wave, the gorgeous ensign hung, 

Or, swelling with the swelling breeze, by fits, 

Cast off upon the dewy air huge flakes 

Of golden lustre. Over all the hill, 

The Heavenly legions, the assembled world, 

Evening her criuison tint for ever drew. 


Round I gazed 
Where in the purple west, no more to dawn, 
Faded the glories of the dying day. 
Mild twinkling through a crimson-skirted cloud 
The solitary star of Evening shone. 
While gazing wistful on that peerless light 
Thereafter to be seen no more, (as, oft. 
In dreams strange images will mix,) sad thoughts 
Passed o'er my soul. Sorrowing, 1 cried, "Farewell, 
Pnle, beauteous Planet, that displayest so soft 
Amid yon glowing streak thy transient beam, 
A long, a last f irewell ! Seasons have changed, 
Ages and empires rolled, like smoke away, 
But, thou, unaltered, beamest as silver fair 
As on thy birthnight 1 Bright and watchful eyes, 
From palaces and bowers, have hailed thy gem 
With secret transport ! Natal star of love, 
And souls that love the shadowy hour of fancy, 
How much I owe thee, how I bless thy ray ! 
How oft thy rising o'er the hamlet green, 
Signal of rest, and social converse sweet, 
Beneath some patriarchal tree, has cheered 
The peasant's heart, and drawn his benison! 
Pride of the West ! beneath thy placid light 
The tender tale shall never more be told, 
Man's soul shall never wake to joy again : 
Thou sct'st for ever, — lovely Orb, farewell! " 


The garden of Absolom's house on Mount Zion,near th* 
palace, uaerioohing the city. Tamak sitting by ajuuntain. 

Tam. How aromatic evening grows! The flower.-> 
And spicy shrubs exhale like onycha ; 
Spikenard and henna emulate in sweets. 
Blest hour! which He, who fashioned it so fair, 
So softly glowing, so contemplative, 
Hath set, and sanctified to look on man. 
And lo ! the smoke of evening sacrifice 
Ascends from out the tabernacle. — -Heaven, 
Accept the expiation, and forgive 
This day's offences ! — Ha ! the wonted strain, 
Precursor of his coming ! — -Whence can this — 
It seems to flow from some unearthly hand — 
Enter Hadad. 

Had. Docs beauteous Tamar view, in this clear 
Herself, or heaven ? 

Tam. Nay, Hadad, tell me whence 
Those sad, mysterious sounds. 

Had. What sounds, dear Princess? 

Tam. Surely, thou know'st ; and now I almost 
Some spiritual creature waits on thee. 

Had. I heard no sounds, but such as evening sends 
Up from the city to these quiet shades; 
A blended murmur sweetly harmonizing 
With flowing fountains, feathered minstrelsy, 
And voices from the hills. 

Tam. The sounds I mean, 
Floated like mournful music round my head, 
From unseen fingers. 



Bad. When? 

Tarn. Kuw, as thou earnest. 

Had. 'T is but thy fancy, wrought 
To ecstasy; or else th}' grandsire's h.irp 
Resounding from his tower at eventide. 
I 've lingered to enjoy its solemn tones, 
Till the broad moon, that rose o'er Olivet, 
Stood listening in the zenith ; yea, have deemed 
Viols and heavenly voices answer him. 

Tarn. But these — 

Had. Were we in Syria, I might s.-iy 
The Naiad of the fount, or some sweet Nymph, 
The goddess of these shades, rejoiced in thee, 
And gave thee salutations ; but I fear 
Judah would call me infidel to Moses. 

Tarn. How like my fancy 1 When these strains 
Thy steps, as oft they do, I love to think 
Some gentle being who delights in us 
Is hovering near, ai d warns me of thy coming; 
But they are dirge-like. 

Had. Youthful fantasy, 
Attuned to sadness, makes them seem so, lady, 
So evening's charming voices, welcomed ever, 
As signs of rest and peace; — the watchman's call, 
The closing gates, the Levite's mellow trump, 
Announcing the returning moon, the pipe 
Of swains, the bleat, the bark, the housing-bell, 
Send melancholy to a drooping soul. 

Tarn. But how delicious are the pensive dreams 
That steal upon the fancy at their call ! 

Had. Delicious to behold the world at rest. 
Meek labour wipes his brow, and intermits 
The curse, to clasp the younglings of his cot; 
Herdsmen and shepherds fold their flocks, — and 

hark ! 
What merry strains they send from Olivet! 
The jar of life is still ; the city speaks 
In gentle murmurs ; voices chime with lutes 
Waked in the streets and gardens; lovi: g pairs 
Eye the red west in one anothei's arms; 
And nature, breathing dew and fragrance, yields 
A glimpse of happiness, which lie, who formed 
Earth and the stars, hath power to make eternal. 


Aesolom, the failier of Tamar, is slain, and IIadad entreats 
Iter to escape with him. 

Tarn, (in alarm.) What mean'st thou? 

Had. Later witnesses report 

Alas ! 

Tarn. My father? — Gracious Heaven! — 
Mean'st thou my father? — 

Had. Dearest Tamar, — Israel's Hope — 
Sleeps witli the valiant of the years of old. 

(Tamar, with convulsed cry, bursts into tears : 
Hadad seems to weep.) 
The bond is rent that knit thee to thy country. 
Thy father's murderers triumph. Turn not there, 
To see their mockery. Let us retire, 
And, piously, on some far, peaceful shore, 
With mingled tears embalm his memory. 

Tain, (clasping her hands.) Am I an orphan ? 

Had. Nay, much-loved. Princess, not while this 
Fond heart 

Tarn. Misguided father ! — Hadst thou but listened, 
Hadst thou believed 

Had. But now, what choice is left? 
What refuge hast thou but thy faithful Hadad? 

Tarn. One — stricken — hoary head remains. 

Had. The slayer of thy parent — Wouldst thou go 
Where obloquy and shame and curses load him? 
Hear him called rebel ? 

Tarn. All is expiated now. 

Had. Tamar, — wilt thou forsake me ? 

Tarn. I must go to David. 

Had. (aside.) Cursed thought! 

Think of your lot — neglect, reproach, and scorn. 
For who will wed a traitor's offspring ? All 
The proud will slight thee, as a blasted thing. 

Tarn. 0, wherefore this to roe? ■ 

Conduct me hence — Nay, instantly. 

Had. (in an altered tone.) Hold ! hold ! 
For thou must hear. — If deaf to love, thou 'rt not 
To fearful ecstacy. 

(Tamar startled: — he -proceeds, but agitated 
and irresolute.) 

Confide in me — 

I can transport thee- 0, to a paradise, 

To which this Canaan is a darksome span ; — 
Beings shall welcome — serve thee — lovely as An- 
gels ;— 
The Elemental Towers shall stoop — the Sea 
Disclose her wonders, and receive thy feet 
Into her sapphire chambers ; — orbed eloi.ds 
Shall chariot thee from zone to zone, while earth, 
A dwindled islet, floats beneath thee ; — every 
Season and clime shall blend for thee the gailand — 
The abyss of Time shall east its secrets, — ere 
The I lood marred primal nature, — ere this Oib 
Stood in her station ! Thou shalt know the stars, 
The houses of Eternity, their names, 
Their courses, destiny, — all marvels high. 

Tain. Talk not so madly. 

Had. (vehemently.) Speak — answer — 
Wilt thou be mine, if unstress of them all? 

Tain. Thy mien appals me ; — I know not what T 
fear ; — 
Thou wouldst not wrong me, — reft and father- 
less — 
Confided to thee as a sacred trust — 

Had. (haughtily.) My power 
Is questioned. Whom dost thou imagine me? 

Tain. Indeed, surpassed by nothing human. 

Had. Bah! 

Tarn. 0, Hadad, Hadad, what unhallow'd thought 
So ruffles and transforms thee? 

Had. Still, still, 
Thou call'st me Hadad, — boy, worm, heritor 
Of a poor, vanquished, tributary King! — 
Then know me. 

Tain. Seraphs hover round me ! 

Had. AVoman ! — (Struggling, as with conflicting 
What thou so dotest on — this form — was Hadad's — 
But I — the Spirit — I, who speak through these 
Clay lips, and glimmer through these eyes, — 
Have challenged friendship, equality, 
With Deathless Ones — prescient Intelligences, — 
Who scorn Man and his molehill, and esteem 
The outgoing of the morning, yesterday! — 
I, who commune with thee, have dared, proved, 

In life — in death — and in that state whose bale 
Is death's first issue ! I could freeze thy blood 

With mysteries too terrible of Hades! — 

Not there immured, for by my art I 'scaped 
Those confines, and with beings dwelt of blight 
Unbodied essence. — ^anst thou now conceive 
The love that could persuade me to these fetters? — 
Abandoning my power — I, wdio could touch 
The firmament, and plunge to darkest Sheol, 
Bask in the sun's oi b, fathom the green sea, 
Even while I speak it — here to root and grow 
In earth again, a mortal, abject thing, 
To win and to enjoy thy love. 

Tarn, (in a low voice of supplication.) Heaven I 
Forsake me not I 




In casting about for the means of opposing the 
sensual, selfish, and mercenary tendencies of our 
nature (the real Hydra of free institutions), and of 
so elevating man, as to render it not chimerical to 
expect from him the safe ordering of his steps, no 
mere human agency can be compared with the re- 
6 mrces laid up in the great Tkeasurc-House of Li- 
; TERATURE. — There, is collected the accumulated ex- 
» perience of ages, — the volumes of the historian, like 
lamps, to guide our feet; — there stand the heroic 
patterns of courage, magnanimity, and self-denying 
(virtue : — there are embo iied the gentler attributes, 
which soften and purify, while they charm the 
heart : — -there lie the charts of those who have ex- 
plored the deeps and shallows of the soul: — there the 
dear-bought testimony, which reveals to us the ends 
of the earth, and shows, that the girdle of the waters 
is nothing but their Maker's will: — there stands the 
Poet's harp, of mighty compass, and many strings: 
—there hang the deep-toned instrume ,ts through 
which patriot eloquence has poured its inspiring 
echoes over oppressed nations: — there, in the sanc- 
tity of their self-emitted light., repose the 
Heavenly oracles. This glorious fane, vast, and 
full of wonders, has been reare 1 and store ! 
by the labors of Lettered Men ; a id could it be 
destroyed, mankind might relapse to the state of 

A restless, discontented, aspiring, immortal prin- 
ciple, placed in a material form, whose clamorous 
appetites, bitter pains, and final languishing and 
decay, are perpetually at war with the pe ice and 
innocence of the s t i.itual occupa.t: and have, more- 
over, power to jeopard its lasting welfare; is the 
mysterious combination of Hainan Nature! To 
employ the never-resting faculty ; to turn of its de- 
sires from the da igero is illusions of the senses to the 
ennobling enjoyments of the mind ; to pluje before 
the bigh-reuchlug principle, objects that will excite, 
and reward its e. forts, a. id, at the same time, not un- 
fit a thing immortal for the prob ibintics that await 
it when tune shall be no more ; — these are the legi- 
timate aims of a perfect education. 

Left to the scanty round of gratifications supplied 
by the senses, or eked by the frivolous g ueties 
which wealth mistakes for pleasure, the unfurnished 
mind becomes weary of all things and itself. With 
the capacity to feel its wretchedness, but without 
tastes or intellectual light to guide it to any avenue 
of escape, it gropes its confines of clay, with 
the sensatioiis of a cage 1 wild beast. It riseth up, 
it moveth to and fro, it liet l down again. In the 
morning it says, Woul 1 God it were evening! in 
the eve dug it cries, Would God it were morning ! 
Driven iu upon itself, with passions and desires that 
madden for action, it grows desperate ; its vision 
becomes perverted: and, at last, vice and ignominy 
seem preferable to what the great Poet calls " the hell 
of the lukewarm" Such is the end of ma.iy a youth, 
to whom authoritative discipline and enlarged teach- 
ing might have early opened the interesting spectacle 
of ma i's past and prospective destiny. Instead of 
languishing, — his mi. id might have throbbed and 
burned, over the trials, the oppressions, the fortitude, 
the triumphs, of men and nations: — breathed upon 
by the life-giving lips of the Patriot, he might have 
discovered, that he had not only a country to love, 
but a head and a hear? to serve her: — goi: g out 
with Science, in her researches through the universe, 
he might have found, amidst the secrets of Nature, 
ever-growing food for reflection and delight: — as- 
cending where the Muses sit, he might have gazed 
on transporting scenes, and transfigured beings; and 

snatched, through heaven's half-unfolded portab, 
glimpses unutterable of thing! beyond. 

In view of these obvious considerations, one of the 
strangest miseonceptio:is is that which blinds us to 
the policy, as well as duty, of educating in the most 
finished manner our youth of large expectations, 
expressly to meet the dangers and fulfil the duties 
of men of leisure. The mischievous, and truly Ameri- 
can notion,, to enjoy a respectable position, 
every man must traffic, or preach, or practise, or hold 
an office, brings to beggary and infamy, many who 
might have lived, under a juster estimate of things, 
usefully and happily ; and cuts us off from a i eedi'ul 
as well as ornamental; portion of society. The ne- 
cessity of labo ing for sustenance is, indeed, the 
great safeguard of the world, the ba'.last, without 
which the wild passions of men would bring com- 
munities to speedy wreck. But man will not labor 
without i a motive ; aid successful accumulation, on 
the part of the parent, deprives the son of this im- 
pulse. Instead, then, of vainly contending against 
laws, as insurmountable as those of physics, and at- 
temptii g to drive their children into lucrative indus- 
try, why do not men, who have made themselves 
opulent, open their eyes, at once, to the glari g fact, 
that the cause, — the cause itself, — which braced their 
own nerves to the struggle for fortune, docs not exist 
for their offspring?' The father lias taken from the 
son his motive! — a motive confessedy important to 
happiness and virtue, in the present state of things. 
He is bound, therefore, by every consideration of 
prudence and humanity, neither to attempt to drag 
him forward without a cheering, animating principle 
of action, — nor recklessly to abandon him to iiis own 
guidance, — nor to poiso i him with the love of lucre 
for itself; but, under new circumstances, — with new 
prospects, — at a totally diJVercnt starting-place from 
Iiis own, — to supply other motives, — drawn from our 
sensibility to reputation, — from our natural desire to 
know, — from an enlarged view of our capacities and 
enjoyments, — and a more high and liberal estimate 
of our relations to society. Fearful, indeed, is the 
responsibility of lenvi. g youth, without mental re- 
sources, to the temptations of splendid idleness! 
Men who have not considered this subject, while the 
objects of their auction yet surround their table, 
drop no see Is of generous sentiments, animate them 
with no discourse on the beauty of disinterestedness, 
the paramount value of the mind, and the dignity 
of that renown which is the e ho of illustrious 
actions. Absorbed in one pursuit, their morning 
precept, their mid-day example, and their evening 
moral, too often co.. spire to teach a single maxim, 
and that in direct contradiction of the inculcation, 
so often and so variously repeated: "It is better to 
get wisdom than gold." Right views, a careful 
choice of agents, and the delegation, betimes, of strict 
authority, would insure the c b,ect. Only let the 
parent feel, and the son be early taught, that, with 
the command of money and leisure, to enter on 
manhood without havi g mastered every attainable 
accomplishment, is mo: e disgraceful than threadbare 
garments, and we might have the happiness to see 
in the inheritors of paternal wealth, less frequently, 
idle, ignorant prodigals and heart-breakers, and 
more frequently, high-minded, highly educated 
young men, embellishi. g, if not called to public 
trusts, a private station. 

Dr.. Jonx W. Francis, whose long intimacy and 
association with two generations of American 
authors constitute an additional claim, with his own 

professional and literary reputation, upon honor- 



able attention in any general memorial of Ameri- 
can literature, was born in the city of New York, 
November 17, 1789. His father, Melchior Fran- 
cis, was a native of Nuremberg, Germany, who 
came to America shortly after the establishment 
of American independence. He followed the 
business, in New York, of a grocer, and was 
known for his integrity and enterprise. lie fell 
a victim to the yellow fever. Dr. Francis's mother 
was a lady of Philadelphia. Tier maiden name was 
Sommers, of a family originally from Berne, in 
Switzerland. It is one of the favorite historical 
reminiscences of her son that she remembered 
when those spirits of the Revolution, Franklin, 
Bush, and Paine, passed her door in their daily 
associations, and the children of the neighborhood 
would cry out, " There go Poor Richard, Com- 
mon S.-nse, and the Doctor." His association 
with Franklin is not merely a matter of fancy. 
In his youth Francis had chosen the calling of a 
printer, and was enlisted to the trade in the 
office of the strong-minded, intelligent, and ever- 
industrious George Long, who was also a pro- 
minent bookseller and publisher of the times, and 
who, emigrating from England by way of the 
Canadas, had carved out his own fortunes by his 
self-denial and perseverance. We have heard 
Mr. Long relate the anecdote of the hours stolen 
by the young Francis from meal-time and re- 
creation, as, sitting under his frame, he partook of 
a frugal apple and cracker, and conned eagerly 
the Latin grammar; and of the pleasure with 
which he gave up his hold on the 3'oung scholar, 
that he might pursue the career to which his 
tastes and love of letters urged him. At this 
early period, while engaged in the art of print- 
ing, lie was one of the few American sub- 
scribers to the English edition of Rees's Cyclo- 
paedia, which he devoured with the taste of a 
literary epicure ; he afterwards became a personal 
friend and correspondent of the learned editor, 
and furnished articles for the London copy of 
that extensive and valuable work. His mother, 
who had been left in easy circumstances, had 
provided liberally for his education : first at a 
school of reputation, under the charge of the Rev. 
George Strebeck, and afterwards securing him 
the instructions in his classx d studies of the Rev. 
John Conroy, a graduate of Trinity College, 
Dublin. He was thus enabled to enter an ad- 
vanced cla-s of Columbia College, and he pushed 
his advantages still further by commencing his 
medical studies during his undergraduate cour-e. 

He received his degree in 1809, and adopting 
the pursuit of medicine, became the pupil of the 
celebrated Dr. Ilosack, then in the prime of life 
and height of his metropolitan reputation. 

In 1811 Francis received his degree of M.D. 
from the College of Physicians and Surgeons, 
which had been established in 1807 under the 
presidency of Dr. Romayne, and which had been 
lately reorganized; with Dr. Bard at its head. 
Franci-'s name was the first recorded on the list 
of graduates of the new institution. The subject 
of his E isay on the occasion was The Use of Mer- 
cury, a topic which he handled not only with 
medical ability, but with a great variety of his- 
torical research. The paper was afterwards pub- 
lished in the Medical and Philosophic-it Register, 
and gained the author much distinction. He 

now became the medical partner of nosack, an 
association which continued till 1820, and the 
fruits of which were not confined solely to his 
profession, as we find the names of the two united 
in many a scheme of literary and social advance- 

In compliment to his acquirements and per- 
sonal accomplishment*, Francis was appointed 
Lecturer on the Institutes of Medicine and the 
Materia Medica in the state college. 

In 1813, when the medical faculty of Columbia 
College and of the " Physicians and Surgeons" 
were united, he received freim the regents of the 
state the appointment of Professor of Materia 
Medica. "With characteristic liberality he delivered 
his course of lectures without fees. His popularity 
gained him from the students the position of 
president e>f their Medico-Chirurgical Society, in 
which he succeeded Dr. Mitcbill. At this time 
he visited Great Britain and a portion of the 
continent. In Lemdon he attended the lectures 
and enjoyed a friendly intercourse with Abernethy, 
to whom he carried the first American reprint 
of his writings. On receiving the volumes from 
the hands of Francis, satisfied with the compli- 
ment from the distant country, and not dreaming 
of copyright possibilities in those days, the eccen- 
tric physician grasped the books, ran his eye 
hastily over them, and set them on the mantel- 
piece of bis study, with the exclamation, " Stay 
here, John Abernethy, until I remove yeiu ! 
Egad! this from America!" In Edinburgh, his 
acquaintance with Jameson, Playfair, John Bell, 
Gregory, Brewster, and the Duncans, gave him 
every facility of adding to the stores of know- 
ledge. A residence of six months in London, 
and attendance on Abernethy and St. Bartho- 
lomew's Hospital, with the lectures of Pearson 
and Brande, increased these means ; and in Paris, 
Gall, Denon, Dupuytren, were found accessible in 
the promotion of his scientific designs. 

He returned to New York, bringing with him 
the foundation of a valuable library, since grown 
to one of the choicest private collections of the 
i city. There were numerous changes in the ad- 
j ministration of the medical institution to which 
[ he was attached, but Francis, at one time Pro- 
I fesseir of the Institutes of Medicine, at another 
j of Medical Jurisprudence, and again of Obste- 
trics, helfl position in them all till his voluntary 
resignation with the rest of the faculty, in 1826; 
'. when he took part in the medical school founded 
j in New York under the auspices of the char- 
| ter of Rutgers College. Legislative enactments 
dissolved this school, which had, while in ope- 
ration, a most successful career. But its exist- 
ence was in nowise compatible with the interests 
of the state school. For about twenty years he 
was the assiduous and successful professor in 
several departments of medical science. With 
his retirement from this institution ceased his 
professorial career, though he was lately the first 
president of the New York Academy of Medicine, 
and is at present head of the Medical Board of 
the Bellevue Hospital. -He has since been a 
leading practitioner in the city of New York, 
frequently consulted by his brethren of the fa- 
culty, and called to solve disputed points in the 
courts of medical jurisprudence. 

In 1810 he founded, in conj uuction with Hosack, 



the American Medical and Philosophical Regis- 
ter, which he continued through four annual 
volume-;. It was a very creditable enterprise, 
and now remains for historical purposes one of 
the most valuable journals of its clas=. Though 
dealing largely in the then engrossing topic of 
epidemics, its pages are by no means confined to 
medicine. It led the way with the discussion of 
steam and canal navigation, with papers from 
Fulton, Stevens, and Morris. Wilson's Orni- 
thology, Livingston's merino sheep- shearing at 
Clermont, the biography of professional and other 
worthies with the universalities of Mitohill, each 
had a share of its attention. It also contains a 
number of well executed original engraving-; and 
for all the-e things it should not be forgotten 
there was, as usual in those time; with such 
advances in the libjral arts, an unpaid expendi- 
ture of brain, and a decidedly unremunerating 
investment of mo'iey. Besides his contributions 
to this journal, his medical publication-; include 
his enlarged edition of Denmau's Midwifery, 
which has several times been reprinted, Cases of 
Morbid Anatomy, Oi the Value of Vitriolic 
Emetics in the Membranous Stage of Croup, 
Facts and Inferences in Medical Jurisprudence, 
On the Anatomy of Drunkenness, and Dea':h by 
Lightning, & -., essays on the cholera of New 
York in 1832, on the mineral waters of Avon, 
two discourses before the New York Academy 
of Medicine, and other minor performances. He 


was also one of the editors, for some time, of 
the New York Medical and Physical Journal, 
lie has been a prominent actor through the sea- 
sons of pestilence in New York for nearly fifty 
yenr3; and was the first who awakened the at- 
tention of the medical faculty of the United 
States to the fact of the rare susceptibility of the 
human constitution to a second attack of the 
pestilential yellow fever, which he made known 
in his letter on Febrile Contagion, dated London, 
June, 1816. 

In general literature, the productions of Fran- 
cis, though the occupation of moments extorted 
from his overwrought profession, are numerous. 
He has largely added to our stock of biographical 
knowledge by many articles. His account of 
Franklin in New York has found its way into Val- 
entine's Manual. lie has delivered addresses beforo 
the New York Horticultural Society in 1820 ; tho 
Philolexian Society of Columbia College in 1831, 
the topic of which is the biography of Chancellor 
Livingston; the discourse at the opening of tho 
New Hall of the New York Lyceum of Natural 
History in 1S36; several speeches at the Historical 
Society and the Typographical Society of New 
York, before which he read, at the anniversary 
in 1832, a paper of Reminiscences of Printers, 
Au'hors, and Booksellers of New York, which, 
as it was afterwards published at length,* con- 
stitutes an interesting addition to tlu literary 
history of the country. It is filled with vivid 
pictures of by-gone worthies', and might be readily 
enlarged from tho published as well as conversa- 
tional stores of tho author to a large volume ; for 
Francis has been a liberal contributor to the 
numerous labors of this kind of tho Knapps, 
Dunlaps, Thachers, an 1 others, from whose vo- 
lumes he might reclaim many a fugitive pago. 
His notices of Daniel Webster, called forth by tho 
public proceedings ater the death of that states- 
man, have been published by the Common Coun- 
cil of the city. His reminiscences of tho novelist 
Cooper, with whom his relation had been one of 
long personal friendship, called forth by a similar 
occasion, appeared in tho " Memorial" of tho 
novelist, published in 1832. Dr. Francis is a 
member of many Medical and Philosophical Asso- 
ciations both abroad and in his native Ian 1. In 
1830 he received the degree of LL.D. from Trinity 
College, Connecticut. 

One of the latest and most characteristic of 
these biographical sketches is the paper on Chris- 
topher Codes, read in 183 it before the New 
York Historical Society, of which Dr. Francis 
has been, from an early date, a most efficient 
supporter. The subject was quaint and learned, 
with rare opportunities for picturesque descrip- 
tion in the fortunes of a simple-minded, enthu- 
siastic city reformer and philosopher, whose slen- 
der purse was out of all proportion with his 
enthusiasm and talent. His virtues were kindly 
dealt with, and his abilities intelligently set forth; 
while his "thin-spun life" was enriched by asso- 
ciation with the memorable men and things of old 
New York in his day. 

While thus inclined to dwell with the past, Dr. 
Francis, in bis genial home, draws together the 
refined activities of the present. At his house in 
Bond street, enjoying the frankness and freedom 
of his warm, unobtrusive hospitality, may be met 
most of the literary and scientific celebrities of 
the time, who make their appearance in tho 
metropolis. The humor and ' character of tho 
host are universal solvents for all tastes and tem- 
peraments. Art, science, opera, politics, theology, 
and, above all, American history and antiqui- 
ties, are handled, in that cheerful society, with 
zest and animation. If a dull argument or an 

* In the International Most, for Feb., 1S52. 

t It has been published ia tho Knickerbocker Gallery, 1355. 



over-tecliotis talc is siometimes invaded by a 
shock of liearty liabelaisiaii effrontery — truth does 
not suffer in the encounter. The cares and 
anxieties of professional life were never more 
happily relieved than in these intellectual recrea- 

They were shared in lately by one whose 
early death has been sincerely mourned by many 
friends. In the beginning of ISoo, the eldest son 
of Dr. Francis, bearing his father's name, at the 
early age of twenty-two, on the eve of taking 
his medical degree with high honor, fell by an 
attack of typhus fever, to which he had subjected 
himself i:i the voluntary charitable exercise of his 
profession. A memorial, privately printed since 
Iris death, contains numerous tributes to his vir- 
tues and talents, which gave earnest promise of 
important services to the public in philanthropy 
and literature. 


As Colics was aa instructive representative of 
much of that peculiarity in the condition and affairs 
of New York, at the time in which he may be said 
to have flourished, I shall trespass a moment, by a 
brief exhibit of the circumstances which marked the 
period, in which he was, upon the whole, a promi- 
nent character. Everybody seemed to know him ; 
no one spoke disparngi. gly of him. His enthusiasm, 
his restlessness, were familiar to the citizens at large. 
He, in short, was a part of our domestic history, and 
an extra word or two may be tolerated, the betler 
to give him his fair proportions. Had I encouatcie 1 
Codes ia any laud, I would have been willing to 
have naturalized him to our soil and institutions. 
He had virtues, the exercise of which must prove 

Erofitable to any people. The biographer of Chaucer 
as seen fit, inasmuch as his hero was bora ia Lon- 
don, to give us a history and description of that city 
at the time of Chaucer's birth, as a suitable intro- 
duction to his work. I shall attempt no such task, 
nor shall I endeavor to make Codes a hero, much as 
I de ir. L to swell his dimensions. I shall circumscribe 
him to a chap-book; he might be distended to a 
quarto. Yet the ardent and untiring man was so 
connected with divers affairs, even after he had do- 
mesticated himself among us, that every move- 
ment in which he took a part must have had a salu- 
tary influence on the masses of those days. He was 
a lover of nature, and our village city of that time 
gave him a fair opportunity of recreation among the 
lordly plane, and elm, and eatalpa trees of Wall 
street, Broadway, Pearl street, and the Bowery. 
The beautiful groves about Richmond Hill and Lis- | 
penard Meadows, and old Yauxhall, mitigated the 
duluess incident to his continuous toil. A trip to 
the scattered residences of Brooklyn awakened 
rural associations ; a sail to Communipaw gave him 
the opportunity of studyii g marls and the bivalves. 
That divine principle of celestial origin, religious 
toleration, seems to have had a strong hold on the 
people of that day ; and the persecuted Priestley, 
shortly after he reached our shores, held forth in the 
old Presbyterian Church in Wall street, doubtless 
favored in a measure by the friendship of old Dr. 
Rodgers, a convert to Whitefield, and a pupil of 
"Witherspoon. This fact I received from John Pin- 
tard. Livingston and Rodgers, Moore and Provoost, 
supplied the best Christian dietetics Ids panting 
desires needed ; while in the persons of Bayley and 
Kissam, and Hosack and Post, he felt secure from 
the misery of dislocations and fractures, and that 
alarming pest, the yellow fever. He 6aw the bar 

occupied with such advocates as Hamilton ana Burr, 
Hoitinan and Colden, and he dreaded neither tho 
assaults of the lawless nor the chicanery of contrac- 
tors. The old Tontine gave him more daily news 
than he had time to digest, and the Argus and Mi- 
nerva, FrencaiCs Time-Piece, and Swords' New York 
Magazine, inspired him with increased zeal for 
liberty, and a fondness for belles-lettres. The city 
libraiy had, even at that early day, the same tena- 
city of purpose which marks its career at the pre- 
sent hour. There were literary warehouses in 
abundance. Judah had decorated his with the por- 
trait of Paine, and here Codes might study Common 
Sense and the Rights of Man, or he might stroll 
to the store of Duyckinck, the patron of books of 
piety, works on education, and Noah Webster ; or 
join tete-a-tete with old Hugh Gaine, or James Riv- 
ington, and Philip Freneau ; now all in harmony, 
notwithstanding the witherii g satire against those 
accommodating old lories, by the great bard of the 
revolutionary crisis. 

The infantile intellect of those days was enlarged 
with Humpty-Dumpty and Hi-did die-diddle, Shop- 
windows were stoi ed with poi traits of Paul 
and Truxton, and the musical sentiment bioke forth 
in ejaeuhitio. s of Tally IJo! and old Towler in one 
part of the town, and, in softer accents, with Rous- 
seau's Dream in another. Here and there, too, 
might be found a coterie giatified with the cres- 
cei do and d mini e do of S gnor Trazerta: nearly 
thirty years e.apsed from this peiiod eie the arrival 
of the Garcia troupe, through the efforts of our 
lamei ted Almaviva, Hominick Lynch, the nonpareil 
of society, when the Italian opera, with its unrival- 
led claims, burst forth fiom the enchantii g voice of 
that marvellous company. The years 17E5-1800 
were unquestionably the period in which the trea- 
sures of the German mind were fiist developed in 
this city by our exotic aid indigenous writers. That 
learned orientalist, Dr. Kui.ze, now commenced the 
translations into English of the German Hynn s, and 
Strebeck and Milledoler gave us the Catechism of 
the The Rev. Mr. Will, Charles Smith, 
and William Dunlap, row supplied novelties from 
the German dramatic school, and Kotzebue and 
Schiller were found on that stuge where Shakespeare 
had made first appearance in the New Woild in 
1752. Codes had other mental resources, as the 
gaieties and gravities of life were dominant with 
him. The city was the home of many noble spirits 
of the Revolution ; General Stevens of the Boston 
Tea-party was heie, full of anecdote, Fish of York- 
town celebrity, and Gates of Saiatoga, always ac- 

There existed in New York, about these times, a 
war of opinion, which seized even the medical fa- 
culty. The Bastile had been taken. French specu- 
lations looked captivating, and Genet's movements 
won admiration, even with grave men. In common 
witli others, our schoolmasters partook of the pre- 
vailing mania; the tri-eoloied cockade was worn by 
numerous schoolboys, as well as by their seniors. 
The yellow-fever was wastii g the population ; but 
the patriotic fervor, either for French or Ei glish 
politics, glowed with ardor. With other boys I 
united in the enthusiasm. The Carmagnole was 
heard everywhere. I give a veise of a popular sorg 
echoed throughout the streets of our city, and heard 
at the Belvidere at that period. 

America that lovely nation, 
Orce w;is bound, but now is free; 

She broke her chain, for to maintain 
The lights and cause of liberly. 

Strains like this of the Columbian bards in those 
days of party-virulence emancipated the feelings of 



many a throbbing breast, even as now the songs, 
of pregnant simplicity and affluent tenderness, by 
Morris, afford delight tu a community pervaded by 
a calmer spirit, and controlled by a loftier refine- 
ment. Moreover, we are to remember that in that 
early age of the Republic an author, and above all 
a poet, was not an every-day article. True, old Dr. 
Smith, the brother of the historian, and once a che- 
mical professor in King's College, surcharged with 
learning and love, who found Delias and Daphnes 
everywhere, might be seen in the public ways, in 
his velvet dress, with his madrigals for the beautiful 
women of his select acquaintance ; but the buds of 
promise of the younger Low (of a poetic family) 
were blighted by an ornithological error : 

'Tis morn, and the landscape is lovely to view, 
The niff/Uingate warbles her song in the grove. 

Weems had not yet appeared in the market with 
his Court of Hymen and his Nest of Love; Cliffton 
was pulmonary; Beach, recently betrothed to 
Thalia, was now dejected from dorsal deformity ; 
Linn, enceinte with the Powers of Genius, h;td not 
yet advanced to a parturient condition ; Townsend, 
sequestered amidst the rivulets and groves near 
Oyster Bay, had with ambitious effort struck the 
loud harp, but the Naiads and the Dryads were heed- 
less of his melodious undulations ; Wardell's decla- 

To the tnneful Apollo I now mean to hollow! 
was annunciatory — -ami nothing more ; and Searson, 
exotic by birth, yet domesticated with us, having 
made vast struggles in his perilous journey towards 
Mount Parnassus, had already descended, with what 
feelings is left to conjecture, by the poet's closing 
lines of his Valedictory to his muse. 

Poets like grasshoppers, sing till they die, 
Yet, ia this world, some laugh, some sing, some cry. 

The Mohawk reviewers, as John Davis called the 
then critics of our city, thought, with the old saying, 
that " where there is so much smoke, there must be 
some fire." But it is no lo:iger questionable, that 
our Castalian font was often dry, and when other- 
wise, its stream was rather a muddy rivulet than a 
spring of living waters. It needs our faithful Los- 
sing to clear up the difficulties of that doubtful 
period of patriotism and of poetry. 

Eliza Towxsexd was descended from an ancient 
and influential family, and was born in Boston in 
1781). She was a contributor of poems to the 
Monthly Anthology, the Unitarian Miscellany, 
and the Port Folio, during the publication of those 
magazines, and to other periodicals. Her produc- 
tions were anonymous, and the secret of their au- 
thorship was for some time preserved. They are 
almost entirely occupied with religious or moral 
reflection, are elevated in tone, and written in an 
animated and harmonious manner. They are not 
numerous, are all of moderate length, and have 
never been collected. The verses on The In- 
comprehensibility of God ; An, Occasional Ode, 
written in June, 1809, and published at the time 
in the Monthly Anthology, in which she com- 
ments with severity on the career of Napoleon, 
then at the summit of bis greatness; Lines to 
Robert Sonthey, written in 1812; The Rainbow, 
published in the General Repository and Review, 
are her best known productions. She died at her 
residence in Boston, January 12, 1854. 

Miss Townsend was much esteemed, not only 
for the high merit of her few literary productions 

but for the cultivation and vigor of her mind, her 
conversational powers, and her many amiable 


" / go forward, but he is not there: and backward, but I 
ca/nnvt perceive him." 

"Where art thou ? — Tuou I Source and Support 

of all 
That is or seen or felt ; Thyself unseen, 
llnfelt, unknown, — alas! unknowable! 
I look abroad among thy works — the sky, 
Vast, distant, glorious with its world of suns, — 
Life-giving earth, — and ever-moving main, — 
And speaking winds, — and ask if these are Thee! 
The stars that twinkle on, the eternal hills, 
The restless tide's outgoing and return. 
The omnipresent and deep-breathing air — 
Though hailed as gods of old, and ouly less — 
Are not the Power I seek ; are thine, not Thee I 
I ask Thee from the past; if in the years, 
Since first intelligence could search its source, 
Or in some former unremembered being, 
(If such, perchance, were mine) did they behold Thee ! 
And next interrogate futurity — 
So fondly tenanted with better things 
Than e'er experience owned — but both are mute; 
And past and future, vocal on all else, 
So full of memories and phantasies, 
Are deaf and speechless here ! Fatigued, I turn 
From all vain parley with the elements; 
And close mine eyes, and bid the thought turn 

From each material thing its anxious guest, 
If, in the stillness of the waiting soul, 
He may vouchsafe himself — Spirit to spirit! 
O Thou, at once most dreaded and desire 1, 
Pavilioned still in darkness, wilt thou hide thee? 
What though the rash request be fraught with fate 
Nor human eye may look on thine and live? 
Welcome the penalty ; let that come now, 
Which soon or late must come. For light like this 
Who would not dare to die? 

Peace, my proud aim, 
And hush the wish that knows not what it asks. 
Await his will, who hath appointed this, 
With every other trial. Be that will 
Done now, as ever. For thy curious search, 
And unprepared solicitude to gaze 
On Him — the Unrevealed — learn hence, instead, 
To temper highest hope with humbleness. 
Pass thy novitiate in these outer courts, 
Till rent the veil, no longer separating 
The Holiest of all — as erst, disclosing 
A brighter dispensation ; whose results 
Ineffable, interminable, tend 
E'en to the perfecting thyself — thy kind' 
Till meet for that sublime beatitude, 
By the firm promise of a voice from heaven 
Pledged to the pure in heart ! 


Seen through the misty southern air, 
What painted gleam of light is there 

Luring the charmed eye? 
Whose mellowing shades of different dyes, 
In rich profusion gorgeous rise 

And melt into the sky. 

Higher and higher still it grows 

Brighter and clearer yet it shows, 

It widens, lengthens, rounds ; 

* Obituary Notice by the Rev. Convers Francis. D.D., of the 
Theological School of Harvard College; published in the Bos- 
ton Daily Advertiser. Griswold's Female Poets of America. 



And now that gleam of painted light, 
A noble arch, compact to sight 
Spans the empyreal bounds ! 

"What curious mechanician wrought, 
"What viewless hands, as swift as thought, 

Have bent this flexile bow ? 
What seraph-touch these shades could blend 
Without beginning, without end? 

"What sylph such tints bestow i 

If Fancy's telescope we bring 

To scan withal this peerless thing, 

The Air, the Cloud, the Water-King, 

Twould seem their treasures joined: 
And the proud monarch of the day, 
Their grand ally, his splendid ray 

Of eastern gold combined. 

Tain vision hence! That will revere 
Which, in creation's infant year, 
Bade, in compassion to our fear, 

(Scarce spent the deluge rage) 
Each elemental cause combine, 
"Whose rich effect should form this sign 

'ihrough every future age. 

Peace! fie rainbow-emblemed maid, 
AVhe;e have thy fairy footsteps strayed? 

Where hides thy seraph form? 
What twilight caves of ocean rest? 
Or in what island of the blest 

Sails it on gales of morn ? 

Missioned from heaven in early hour, 
Designed through Eden's blissful bower 

Delightedly to tread ; 
Till exiled thence in evil time, 
Scared at the company of crime, 

Thy startled pinions fled. 

E'er since that hour, alas! the thought! 
Li'ce thine own dove, who vainly sought 

To find a sheltered nest ; 
Still from the east, the south, the north, 
Doomed to be driven a wanderer forth, 

And find not where to lest. 

Till, when the west its world displayed 
Cf hiding hills, and sheltering shade — 
Either thy weary flight was stayed, 

Here fondly fixed thy seat; 
Our forest glens, our desert caves, 
Our wall of interposing waves 

Deemed a secure retreat. 

In vain — from this thy last abode, 
(One pitying glance on earth bestowed) 
We saw thee take the heavenward road 

Where yonder cliffs arise ; 
Saw thee thy tearful features shroud 
Till cradled on the conscious cloud, 
That, to await thy coming, bowed, 

We lost thee in the skies. 

For now the maniac-demon War, 
Whose ravings heard so long from far 
Convulsed us with their distant jar, 

Nearer and louder soars ; 
His arm, that death and conquest hurled 
On all beside of all the world, 

Claims these remaining shores. 

What though the laurel leaves he tears 
Proud round his impious brows to wear 

A wreath that will not fade ; 
What boots him its perennial power — 
Those laurels canker where they flower, 

They poison where they shade. 

But thou, around whose holy head 
The balmy olive loves to spread, 

Return, nymph benign ! 
"With buds that paradise bestowed, 
"Whence " healing for the nations" flowed, 

Our bleeding temples twine. 

For thee our fathers ploughed the strand, 
For thee they left that goodly land, 

The turf their childhood trod; 
The hearths on which their infants played. 
The tombs in which their sires were laid, 

The altars of their God. 

Then, by their consecrated dust 
Their spirits, spirits of the just ! 

Now near their Maker's face, 
By their privations and their cares, 
Their pilgrim toils, their patriot prayers, 

Desert thou not their race. 

Descend to mortal ken confest, 

Known by thy white and stainless vest, 

And let us on the mountain crest 

That snowy mantle see; 
Oh let not here thy mission close, 
Leave not the erring sons of those 

Who left a world for thee ! 

Celestial visitant! again 
Resume thy gentle golden reign, 

Our honoured guest once more ; 
Cheer with thy smiles our saddened plain, 
And let thy rainbow o'er the main 

Tell that the storms are o'er ! 
January, 1S13. 


Sarati JosF.prrA Buell was born at the town of 
Newport, New Hampshire. Her education was 
principally directed by her mother and a brother 
in college, and was continued after her marriage 
by her husband, David Hale, an eminent lawyer 
and well read man. On his death in 1822, she 
was left dependent upon her own exertions for 
her support and that of her five children, the 
eldest of whom was but seven years old, and as a 
resource she turned to literature. A volume, 
The Genius of Oblivion and other original poems, 
was printed in Concord in 1823, for her benefit 
by the Freemasons, a body of which her husband 
had been a member. In 1827 she published North- 
wood, a novel in two volumes. 

In 1828, she accepted an invitation to become 
editor of " The Ladies' Magazine/' published at 
Boston, and removed in con equence to that city. 
In 1837 the magazine was united with the Lady's 
Book, a Philadelphia monthly, the literaiy charge 
of which was placed and still remains in her 
hands. She has published Sketches of American 
Character ; Traits of American Life; The Way 
to live well and to be well while we live ; Grosve- 
nor, a Tragedy (founded on the Revolutionary 
story of the execution of Col. Isaac Hayne of 
South Carolina) ; A lice Bay, a Romance in Rhyme; 
Harry Guy, the Widow's Son, a story of the sea 
(also in verse) ; Three Hours, or, the Vigil of 
Love, and other Poems. Part of these have been 
reprinted from the magazines edited by her, 
which also contain a large number of tales and 
sketches in prose and verse from her pen not yet 
collected. Mrs. Hale's stories are brief, pleasant 
narratives, drawn generally from the every-day 
course of American life. 



Her poems are for the most part narrative and 
reflective — and are written with force and ele- 
gance. One of the longest, Three Hours, or the 
Vigil of Love, is a story whose" scene is laid in 
New England, and deals with the spiritual and 
material fears the early colonists were subjected 
to from their belief in witchcraft and the neigh- 
borhood of savage foes. 

In 1853 Mrs. Hale published Woman's Record, or 
Sketches of all Distinguished Women, from " the 
Beginning" till A. D. 1850. In this work, which 
forms a large octavo volume of nine hundred and 
four pages, she has furnished biographical notices 
of the most distinguished of her sex in every 
period of history. Though 7nany of the articles 
are necessarily, brief, and much of it is a com- 
pilation from older cyclopaedia*, there are nume- 
rous papers of original value. The Record 
includes of course many distinguished in the held 
of authorship, and in these cases extracts are 
given from the productions which have gained 
eminence for their writers. The choice of names 
is wide and liberal, giving a fair representation of 
every field of female exertion. 

Mrs. Hale has also prepared A Complete Dic- 
tionary of Poetical Quotations, containing Selec- 
tions from the Writings of the Poe's of England 
and America, in a volume of six hundred double 
column octavo pages, edited a number of annuals, 
written several books for children, and a volume 
on cookery. 


"It snows!" cries the school-boy — "hurrah!" and 
his shout 

Is ri.iging through parlor and hall, 
While swift as the wing of a swallow, he's out, 

And his playmates have answered his call. 
It make? the heart leap but to witness their joy, — 

Proud wealth lias no pleasures, I trow, 
Like the rapture that throbs in the pulse of the bey, 

As he gathers Ids treasures of snow ; 
Then lay not the trappings of gold on thine heirs, 

While health, and the riehes of Nature are theirs. 

"It snows!" sighs the imbecile — "Ah!" and his 

Conies heavy, as clogged with a weight; 
While fi om the pale aspect of Nature ill death 

He turns to the blaze of his grate : 
And nearer, and nearer, his soft cushioned chair 

Is wheeled tow'rds the life-giving flame — 
He dreads a chill puff of the suow-buideued air, 

Lest it wither his delicate frame ; 
Oh ! small is tiie pleasure existence can give, 

When the fear we shall die o.ily proves that we 
live! 3 ' 

! Ho 

:id the 

" It snows !" cries the traveller- 

Has quickened his steed's lagging pace ; 
The wind rushes by, but its howl is unheard 

Unfelt the sharp drift in his face ; 
For bright through the tempest his own home ap- 
peared — 
Ay ! though leagues intervened, he can see 

* Woman's Record: or Sketches of all Distinguished Wo- 
men, from " the Beginning" till A.D. 1S50. Arranged in four 
eras. With selections from female writers of every age. By 
Sarah Josepha Hale. New York : 1853. 

There's the clear, glowing hearth, and the table pre- 
And his wife with their babe3 at her knee. 
Blest thought! how it lightens the grief-laden hour, 
That those we love dearest are safe from its power. 

" It snows !" crie3 the Belle, — " Dear how lucky," 
and turns 

From her mirror to watch the flakes fall ; 
Like the first rose of summer, her dimpled cheek 

While musing on sleigh-ride and ball: 
There are visions of conquest, of splendor, and mirth, 

Floating over each drear winter's day ; 
Bat the tintmgs of Hope, on this storm-beaten earth, 

Will melt, like the snowflakes, away; 
Turn, turn thee to Heaven, fair maiden, for bliss 
That world has a fountain ne'er opened in this. 

" It snows !" cries the widow, — " Oh, God !" and her 

Have stifled the voice of her prayer, 
Its burden ye'll read in her tear-swollen eyes, 

On her cheek, sunk with fasting anil care. 
'Tis night — and her fatherless ask her for bread — 

But " He gives the young ravens their food," 
And she trusts, till her dark hearth adds horror to 

And she lays on her last chip of wood. 
Poor euff'rer ! that sorrow thy Go 1 only knows — 
'Tis a pitiful lot to be poor, when it snows ! 


Job Durfee was born at Tiverton, Rhode Island, 
September 20, 1790. He entered Brown Uni- 
versity in 1809, and on the conclusion of his aca- 
demic course studied law and was licensed to 
practise. In 1814 he was elected a member of 
the i-tate legislature, and six years afterwards of 
the national House of Representatives. He dis- 


languished himself in Congress by his advocacy 
of the interests of his state in the bill providing 
for a new apportionment of representatives, anil 
by his moderate course on the tariff. Pie re- 
mained in Congress during two terms. In 1826 
he was re-elected to the state legislature, but 
after a service of two years declined a re-nomina- 
tion, and retired to his farm, where he devoted 
himself to literature, and in 1832 published a 
small edition of his poem of Whatcheer. 

In 1833 he was appointed associate, and two 
years after chief-justice of the Supreme Court of 
the state. He continued in this office until his 
death, July 2G, 1847. His works were collected 
in one octavo volume, with a memoir by his son, 
in 1849. They consist of his Whatcheer and a 
few juvenile verse-, mostly of a fanciful charac- 
ter; a few historical addresses; an abstruse phi- 
losophical treatise, entitled Panidea, the object of 
which is to show the pervading influence and 
presence of the Deity throughout nature; and a 
few of his judicial charges. 

Whatcheer is a poem of nine cantos, each con- 
taining srmie fifty or sixty eight-line stanzas. It 
is a ver-ified account of Roger Williams's depart- 
ure from Salem, his journey through the wilder- 
ness, interviews with the Indians, and the tettle- 



merit of Rhode Island. It is written in a very 
plain manner, and makes no pretensions to high 
poetic merit, but many passages are impressive 
from their earnestness and simplicity. The ver- 
sification is smooth and correct. 


Above his head the branches writhe and bend, 
Or in the mil gled wreck the ruin flies — 

The storm redoubles, and the whirlwinds blend 
The rising snow-drift with descending skies; 

And oft the crags a friendly shelter lend 

His breathless bosom, and bis sightless eyes ; 

But, when the transient gust its fury spends, 

He through the storm again upon his journey wen :1s. 

Still truly does his course the magnet keep — 
No toils fatigue him, and no fears appal ; 

Oft turns he at. the glimpse of swampy deep ; 
Or thicket dense, or crag abrupt and tall, 

Or backward treads to shun the headlong steep, 
Or pass above the tumbling waterfall ; 

Yet still he joys wheue'er the torrents leap, 

Or crag abrupt, or thicket dense, or swamp's far 

Assures him progress, — From gray morn till noon — 
Hour after hour — from that drear noon until 

The evening's gathering darkness had begun 
To clothe with deeper glooms the vale and hill, 

Sire Williams journeyed in the forest lone ; 

And then night's thickening shades began to fill 

His soul with doubt — for shelter had he none — 

And all the out-stretched waste was clad with one 

Vast mantle hoar. And he began to hear, 

At times, the fox's bark, and the fierce howl 
Of wolf, sometimes afar — sometimes so near, 

That in the very glen they seemed to prowl 
Where now he, wearied, paused — and then his ear 

Started to note some shaggy monster's growl, 
That from his snow-clad, rocky den did peer. 

Shrunk with gaunt famine in that tempest drear, 

And scenting human blood — yea, and so nigh, 
Thrice did our northern tiger seem to come, 

He thought he heard the fagots crackling by, 

And saw, through driven snow and twilight gloom, 

Peer from the thickets his fierce burning eye, 

Scanning his destined prey, and through the broom, 

Thrice stealing on his ears, the whining cry 

Swelled by degrees above the tempest high. 

Wayworn be stood — and fast that stormy night 
Was gathering round him over hill and dale — 

He glanced around, and by the lingering light 
Found he hnd paused within a narrow vale; 

On either hand a snow-clad rocky height 
Ascended high, a shelter from the gale, 

Whilst deep between them, in thick glooms bedight, 

A swampy dingle caught the wanderer's sight. 

Through the white billows thither did he wade, 
And deep within its solemn bosom trod ; 

There on the snow his oft repeated tread 
Hardened a flooring for his night's abode ; 

All there was calm, for the thick branches made 
A screen above, and round him closely stood 

The trunks of cedars, and of pines arrayed 

To the rude tempest, a firm barricade. 

And now his hatchet, with resounding stroke, 
Hewed down the boscage that around him rose, 

And the dry pine of brittle branches broke, 
To yield him fuel for the night's repose: 

The gathered heap an ample store bespoke — 
He smites the steel — the tinder brightly glows, 

And the fired match the kindled flame awoke, 
And light upon night's seated darkness broke. 

High branched the pines, and far the colonnade 
Of tapering trunks stood glimmering through the 

Then joyed our Father in this lonely glade, 
So far from haunts of persecuting men, 

That he might break of honesty the bread, 
And blessings crave in his own way again — 

Of the piled brush a seat and board he made, 

Spread his plain fare, and piously he prayed. 

" Father of mercies ! thou the wanderer's guide, 
In this dire storm along the howling waste, 

Thanks for the shelter thou dost here provide, 
Thanks for the mercies of the day that's past ; 

Thanks for the frugal fare thou bast supplied ; 
And O ! may still thy tender mercies last; 

And may thy light on every falsehood shine, 

Till man's freed spirit own no law save thine! 

" Grant that thy humble instrument still shun 

His persecutors in their eager quest; 
Grant the asylum yet to be begun, 

To persecution's exiles yield a rest ; 
Let ages after ages take the boon, 

And in soul-liberty fore'er be blest — 
Grant that I live until this task be done, 
And then, Lord, receive me as thine own !" 


Levi Woodbury was born at Francestown, New 
Hampshire, December 22, 1789. After receiving 
an excellent preliminary education, he entered 
Dartmouth College. On the completion of his 
course in 1809, he studied law at the celebrated 
Litchfield school, commenced practice in his 
native village, and rapidly rose to such eminence 
that in 1816 he was appointed one of the Judges 
of the Superior Court of his State. 

In 1823 he was elected Governor, and in 1825 
a member of the Hout-e of Representatives, where 
he was made Speaker, and soon after chosen Se- 
nator. In May, 1831, he was made Secretary of 
the Navy by President Jackson, and in 1834 Se- 
cretary of the Treasury. In 1841 he was a second 
time chosen Senator, and in 1845 became one of 
the Associated Judges of the Supreme Court, 
lie died at his residence in Portsmouth, New 
Hampshire, September 4, 1851. 

His political, judicial, and literary writings 
were collected in 1852 in three large octavo 
volumes, a volume being devoted to each, and a 
portion only of his productions of either class 
given. The first volume contains speeches and 
reports delivered in Congress as Governor, and 
in the deliberative assembly of his State, with 
"occasional letters and speeches on important 
topic->." An Appendix furnishes us with spe- 
cimens of his political addres-es at popular meet- 
ings. The second volume is made up of Argu- 
ments and Charges. The third contains Addresses 
on the Importance of Science in the Arts, the 
Promotion and Uses of Science, the Remedies 
for Certain Defects in American Education ; on 
Progress ; on Historical Inquiries. The style in 
these is clear and efficient; the argument ingeni- 
ous and practical. 


Print, if possible, beyond even the thirty sheets 
by a steam press now executed in the time one was 



formerly struck off. Go, also, beyond the present 
gain in their distribution over much of the world by 
improvements in the locomotive and the steamboat, 
so as to accomplish like results at far less than the 
former cost. Promote the discovery of still further 
materials than rags, bark, or straw, for the wonder- 
ful fabric of paper, — used, not merely as the orna- 
ment of our drawing-rooms, tjie preserver of history, 
the organ of intercourse between both distant places 
and distant ages, the medium of business, the evi- 
dence of property, the record of legislation, and in 
all ranks the faithful messenger of thought and 
affection ; but, above all, the universal instrument 
of instruction. Reduce still further, by new inven- 
tions, the already low price of manufacturing paper. 
Render types also cheaper, as well as more durable. 
And, in short, set no boundaries and prostrate all 
barriers whatever to the enterprise of the human 
mind, in devising greater facilities for its own pro- 
gress. Next to these considerations, new means 
might well be adopted to improve the quality of 
those books which are in most common use. This 
could be accomplished by greater attention to their 
practical tendency and suitableness to the times in 
which we live, and the public wants which exist 
under our peculiar institutions, whether social or 
political. The highest intellects might beneficially 
descend, at times, to labor in writing for the humblest 
spheres of letters and life. In cases of long and ob- 
vious deficiencies in books designed for particular 
branches of instruction, boards of education might 
well confer premiums for better compilations. Such 
boards might also, with advantage, strive to multiply 
institutions particularly intended to prepare more 
efficient teachers, female as well as male. In short, 
the fountains must always be watched, in order to 
insure pure streams; and the dew which descends 
nightly on every object, and in all places, however 
lowly, is more useful than a single shower confined 
to a limited range of country. We must take pa- 
ternal care of the elements on which all at first feed ; 
and if in these modes we seek with earnestness the 
improvement of the many, we help to protect the 
property and persons of the favoured few as much 
as we elevate the character and c'onduct of all situ- 
ated in the more retired walks of society. There is 
another powerful motive for exertion, even by the 
higher classes, to advance the better education of the 
masses. It is this : the wealth}-, for instance, can 
clearly foresee that, by the revolutions of fortune's 
wheel, their own children, or grandchildren, are in 
time likely to become indigent, so as to be the im- 
mediate recipients of favor under any system of free 
education, and thus may be assisted to attain once 
more rank and riches. Nor should the talented be 
parsimonious in like efforts, because a degeneracy of 
intellect, not unusual after high developments in a 
family, may plunge their posterity into ignorance 
and want, where some untaught Addison or " mute 
inglorious Milton" might, after a few generations, re- 
appear, but never instruct or delight the age, unless 
assisted at first by opportunities and means furnished 
through a system like this. All which is thus be- 
stowed will likewise prove, not only an inheritance 
for some of the offspring of the favored classes, but 
a more durable one than most of those honors and 
riches, endeavored so often, but fruitlessly, to be trans- 
mitted. It is true that vicissitudes seem impressed 
on almost everything human, — painful, heartrending 
vicissitudes, — which the fortunate dread, and would 
mitigate, if not able to avert. But the}' belong less 
to systems than to families or individuals, and can 
be obviated best by permanent plans to spread stores 
of intellectual wealth, constantly and freely, around 


Was born in Philadelphia, January 23, 1790, the 
son of the Rev. Joseph Turner. He took his de- 
gree at the University of Pennsylvania in 1807. 
He was ordained deacon in the Protestant Epis- 
copal Church by Bishop White in 1811, and the 
next year became settled in a parish in Chester- 
town, Kent county, Maryland. He returned to 
Philadelphia in 1817, and, October 7, 1818, was 
appointed Professor of Historic Theology in the 
General Theological Seminary at New York, 
where he has since resided, attached to that insti- 
tution, with the exception of an interval in 1820 
and 1821, which he passed at New Haven. In 
the last year he was appointed Professor of Bibli- 
cal Learning and the Interpretation of Scripture, 
in the Seminary. In 1831 he was chosen Pro- 
fessor of the Hebrew Language and Literature in 
Columbia College. 

His life has been almost exclusively passed in 
the occupations of a scholar engaged in the work 
of instruction : but he has also given the public 
numerous important hooks. He was one of the 
first to introduce into the country translations of 
the learned German critics and divines. In 1827 
he prepared, with the joint assistance of Mr. 
(now Bishop) William R. Whittingham, of Mary- 
land, a translation of John's Introduction to the 
Old Testament, with notes, and,m 1834, a tran-la- 
tion of Planck's Introduction to Sacred Criticism 
and Interpretation, with notes. 

A third publication, in 1847, exhibits Dr. 
Turner on the ground of one of his favorite 
studies, the Rabbinical Literature, with which ho 
is particularly conversant. It is entitled Bio- 
graphical Notices of Jewish Rabbles, with Trans- 
lations and Notes. 

He is the author also of several theological 
writings; Spiritual Things compared with 
Spiritual or Parallel References, published in 
1848 ; Essay on our Lord's Discourse at Caper- 
naum, in John vi., in 1851 ; Thoughts on 
Scriptural Prophecy, 1852. 

He has of late been engaged on a series of 
Critical Commentaries on the Epistles of the New 
Testament, of which the volumes on the Hebrews 
and the Romans severally appeared in 1852 and 

Dr. Turner has, in addition, corrected and pre- 
pared for the pre-s Mr. Jaeger's Translation of 
the Mythological Fictions of the Greeks and Ro- 
mans, published in 182!) by Moritz. 

Dr. Turner maintains a high rank for his exact 
critical scholarship and the fairness of his writ- 
ings, which have received the approval of those 
who differ from him in theological opinions. 

\~$ the first organization of this state, when the 
country was for the most part a wilderness, the 
Constitution, in 1777, included a recommendation 
for the founding of a University. There was 
some delay while negotiations were going on with 
the neighboring Dartmouth College, which re- 
ceived a grant of land from Vermont in 1785. 
The home project was, however, fairly set on foot 
in 1789, when Ira Allen, of Colchester, made 
a liberal offer of lands, labor, and materials. 
Allen was the brother of Colonel Ethan Allen, 



He was prominently connected with the early 
annals of Vermont, of which, in 1798, he pub- 
lished a history, and was always a zealous advo- 
cate of the interests of the College. His gift of 
land was liberal, and his selection of the posi- 
tion of the University clear-sighted. President 
Wheeler, in his College Historical Discourse in 
1854, speaks of "his comprehensive mind and 
highly creative and philosophical spirit." 

There was much agitation, as usual, respecting 
a site for the institution, but the various local 
claims were finally overcome in favor of Burling- 
ton, which, from its fine position on Lake Ohain- 
pluin, on the high road of travel, offered the 
most distinguished inducements. The University 
was chartered in 1791, but its officers were not 
appointed nor its building commenced till 1800. 
The Rev. Daniel C. Sanders, a graduate of Har- 
vard of 1788, was elected the first president; of 
decided personal traits, in a stalwart figure, and 
mingled courage and courtesy, he was an efficient 
director of the youth under his charge. lie per- 
formed his onerous duties for the first three 
j'ears without an assistant. The class of 1804, 
we read, received all their inatruciaons from him; 
and as the classes increased he often employed 
six, eight, and ten hours of the day in personal re- 
citations. " He was not profound as a thinker," 
adds Dr. Wheeler, " nor severely logical as a rea- 
Boner, nor of a high form of classical elegance 
and accuracy as a writer; but he was lucid, 
fresh, and original in forms of expression, full of 
benignity and kindness in his sentiments, and 
was listened to with general admiration.'"* By 
the year 1807 a college building, including a 
chapel and a president's house, had been erected, 
and the commencement of a library and philoso- 
phical apparatus secured. The course of study 
embraced the usual topics, with the addition of 
anatomy; the Rev. Samuel Williams, the author 
of the Natural and Civil History of Vermont, 
first published in 1794, having delivered, for two 
years, lectures on astronomy and natural philoso- 
phy. As an illustration of the simple habits of 
the time and place, a calculation was made by 
the president, that "a poor scholar, by keeping 
school four months each winter, at the average 
price of sixteen dollars a month, could pay all his 
college bills and his board, and leave college with 
thirty-two dollars in his pocket.' t The college 
asked only twelve dollars a year from each stu- 
dent. There was a moderate income from pub- 
lic lands, from which the president received a 
salary of six hundred dollars ; a professor of ma- 
thematics less than three hundred and fifty, and 
a tutor three hundred. These simple receipts 
and expenditure required constant vigilance and 
self-denial in the management of the institution, 
which was shortly affected from without by the 
stoppage of the commerce of the town with Ca- 
nada in consequence of the non-intercourse po- 
licy of Jefferson, by the rivalry of Middlehnry 
College, which was chartered in 1S00.J and by 

* Historical Discourse, p. 12. 

+ MSS uf Sanders, quoted by President Wheeler. 

X Middlcbmy College, was encouraged by the success nf the 
Addison County Grammar school, and the natural desire of 
the intelligent citizens of the (list iet to take the lead in edu- 
cation. The Rev. Jeremiah Atwater, who had been connected 
vitli the school, was the first prosidont. In 1S15 there were 

the interference of the legislature with the vested 
rights under the charter. The University out- 
grew these several difficulties. The war ended ; 
it became strong enough to hold its own against 
all diversions; and the Dartmouth College legal 
decision having led to a better understanding of 
the rights of college property, the old charter was 
restored in its integrity. While under the more 
immediate control of the legislature the wants of 
the University were at least clearly indicated by 
a committee composed of the Hon. Royal Tyler 
and the Hon. W. C. Bradley, who reported in 
favor of the ap] ointment of new professorships 
of the learned languages, of law, belles lettres, 
chemistry, and mineralogy. During the war the 
college exercises were suspended and the faculty 
broken up. 

After the establishment of peace, the Rev. 
Samuel Austin was elected president in 1815. 
He was a native of Connecticut, born in 1760, a 
graduate of Yale, subsequently teacher of a gram- 
mar-school in New Haven, while he studied 
theology with the Rev. Dr. Jonathan Edwards 
then settled there, next a valued clergyman in 
Connecticut, and at the time of his call to the 
college settled in Worcester, Mass., where he had 
preached since 1790. He was a man of earnest 
religious devotion ; and his reputation in this par- 
ticular, no less than his especial labors, served the 
institution, which was thought in danger of lay 
influences, from the immediate control of the le- 
gislature of its affairs. 

Dr. Austin resigned in 1821, despairing of re- 
viving the college, which was now greatly pressed 
by financial embarrassments. The suspension of 
the college appeared at hand, when new vigor 
was infused, chiefly through the activity of Pro- 
fessor Arthur L. Porter, whose services were 
soon again required, on the destruction of the 
original college building by fire. The Rev. 
Daniel Haskell, a man of energy, was elected 
president, and was shortly succeeded, in 1825, by 
the Rev. Willard Preston, of an amiable charac- 
ter, who again, in the next year, gave place to 
the Rev. James Marsh, under whose auspices the 
fame of the institution was to be largely in- 



James Marsh, the scholar and philosopher, was 
horn in Hartford, Vermont, July 19, 1794. His 
grandfather was one of the early settlers in the 
state, and its first lieutenant-governor. His father 
was a farmer; and it was amongst rural occupa- 
tions, for which he ever after entertained a long- 
ing, that the first eighteen years of the life of the 
future professor, were passed. He was brought up 
to the hardy labor of the farm, and it was only 
upon the withdrawal of his elder brother from 

sixteen ^radnates. Henry Davis, who had been professor of 
languages in Union Colletre. succeeded to Atwater in 1S10, and 
held the office till 1S17. The Itev. Joshua Bates, of Dcdham, 
Mass., was next chosen. He has since been succeeded by the 
Eev. Dr. Benjamin Labaree. The Institution has been well 
attended and lias become enriched., from time to time, by va- 
rious important donations and bequests. — Historical Sketch by 
Professor Fowler. Atn. Quar. Keg. ix. 22U-229. 



the college opportunities tendered to him, that 
he turned his studies in that direction. He was 
admitted at Dartmouth in 1813, where lie pur- 
sued the ancient ■ languages and literature with 
diligence ; and where, under the influence of a 
roligious excitement which took placss at the col- 
lege, he hecame deeply devotional, which led to 
his entrance at the theological scho >1 at Andover. 
He passed a year there, and hecame a tutor in 
1818 at Dartmouth. After two years profitably 
spent in this way he raturnsd to Andover, taking 
a visit to Cambridge by the way, for the sake ot' 
a candid view of the studies he W:n prosecuting. 
His course at Andover was laborious. Abstemi- 
ous in diet, and frugal of his physical resources 
and the claims of society, he devoted all his pow- 
ers to learning. One of the first fruits of these 
studies was an article on Anc'ent and Modem 
Poetry, published in the North American Re- 
view for July, 1822, in which lis exhibits the 
influences of Christianity upon the later litera- 
ture. German literature had occupied much of 
his attention, and he prepared a translation of 
the work of Bellerman on the Geography of the 
Scriptures, as he afterwards employed himself 
noon a version of Hedgawisoh on the Elements of 
Chronology. His most important work in this 
way was his translation of Herder's Spirit of He- 
brew Poetry, published in two volumes at Bur- 
lington, in 1833. 

From Andover he passed for awhile to the 
South, where he was engaged in the business of 
tuition in Hampden Sidney College, in Virginia, 
with Dr. Rice. He sometimes preached, though 
he had little fondness or aptitude for this " acting 
in public," as he called it at the time. Turning 
his thoughts to the North, an editorial connexion 
was planned with the Christian Spectator, a 
theological review at New Haven, a position for 
Which he was well qualified, but it was not car- 
ried out. In 1824 he was formally appointed to 
a professorship in Hampden Sidney, and the same 
year was ordained a minister. His entire con- 
nexion with this college lasted but three years, 
when he was appointed to the presidency of the 
University of Vermont in 1826, a position which 
he entered upon and occupied till 1833, when he 
exchanged its duties for the professorship of Mo- 
ral and Intellectual Philosophy in the same insti- 
tution. He held this till his death, July 3, 1842, 
in the fifty-eighth year of his age. 

It is by his college labors and the philosophical 
publications which they elicited, as well as by 
his noble personal influence upon his pupils, that 
Dr. Marsh is best known. He was one of the 
first to revive attention in the country to the 
sound Christian philosophy advocated by Cole- 
ridge, and illustrated in the writings of the old 
English divines, as contradistinguished to the 
school of Locke. In the words of his faithful 
biographer, Professor Torrey,* "the prevailing 
doctrine of the day was, Understand, and then 
believe; while that which Mr. Marsh would set 
forth, not as anything new. but as the old doc- 
trine of the church from the earliest times, was, 
"Believe, that ye may understand." "Such 
views," said Marsh, " may not indeed bo learned 
from the superficial philosophy of the Paleian and 

* Memoir prefixed to the Remains, p. 91. 

Caledonian schools; hut the higher and more 
Spiritual philosophy of the great English divines 
of the seventeenth century abundantly teaches 
them, both by precept and practice." In accord- 
ance with these views he published in 1829 the 
first American edition o 1 ' Coleridge's Aids to Re- 
flection, as a book which answered his purpose, 
for which he wrote an able Preliminary Essay, 
addressed to " the earnest, single-hearted lovers" 
of Christian, spiritual, and moral truth. With 
the same view he edited a volume of Selections 
from the Old English Writers on. Practical The- 
ology, which contained Howe's Blessedness of tho 
Righteous, and Bates's Four Last Things.- 

His views of colLge study and discipline were 
those of a liberal-minded reformer, and were to a 
considerable extent adopted by the institution over 
which he presided. He held that the admission 
to colleges might be extended with advantage to 
those who could avail themselves only of a par- 
tial course; that a paternal discipline, based on 
moral and social influence, might be employed; 
that the liberty of the powers of the individual 
might be preserved under a general system of 
training ; that additional studies might be prose- 
cuted by the enterprising: and that honors should 
be conferred on those only of real abilities and 
attainments. These were all liberal- objects ; and 
as they were pursued with warmth and candor 
by Dr. Marsh, they gained him the respect and 
atfection of the be-t minds among his students, 
who have now carried his influence into the walks 
of active lite. 

In addition to the writings which wo have 
mentioned, Dr. Marsh published in 1829 a series 
of papers in the Vermont Chronicle, signed "Phi- 
lopolis," on Popular Education. He wrote also 
for the Christian Spec'aior a review of Professor 
Stuart's Commentary on the Hebrews, in which 
he did justice to the objects of the author. At 
the close of bis life Dr. Marsh intrusted his manu- 
scripts to Professor Torrey of the University of 
Vermont, by whom in 1843 a volume of Remains 
was published with a Memoir. It contains the 
author's college lectures on psychology, several 
philosophical essays, and theological discourses, 
lie had projected and partially executed a System 
of Logic, and meditated a matured treatise on 

In 1833, on the retirement of Dr. Marsh from 
the presidency, the Rev. John Wheeler, of Wind- 
sor, Vermont, was appointed president. A sub- 
scription which had been projected for tho 
benefit of the college was now completed, and 
the sum of thirty thousand dollars obtained, 
which added largely to the practical efficiency of 
the institution. Other collections of funds have 
since been made, which have farther secured its 

During the administration of Dr. Wheeler, 
Professor Torrey succeeded Dr. Marsh in his 
chair of moral and intellectual philosophy, tho 
Rev. Calvin Pease was elected professor of the 
Latin and Greek languages, and the Rev. W. G. 
T. Shedd professor of English literature. In 
1 847 Professor George W. Benedict, a most ac- 
tive supporter of the college welfare, resigned his 
seat as professor of chemistry and natural his- 
tory, after twenty-two years' services to the in- 



President Wheeler resigned in 1848, and was 
succeeded by the present incumbent, the Rev. 
Worthington Smith, D.D., of St. Alban's, Vt.. 

On the 1st of August, 1854, the semi-centen- 
nial anniversary of the University was celebrated 
at Burlington. 

A historical discourse was delivered by the 
former president, Dr. Wheeler, from which the 
materials of this narrative have been mostly 
drawn. An oration, " Our Lesson and our Work, 
or Spiritual Philosophy and Material Politics," 
was pronounced by Mr. James R. Spalding; a 
poem by the Rev. O.G. Wheeler; while the asso- 
ciations' of the Institution were recalled in the 
after dinner festivities, with an honest pride in 
the favorite philosophy of the University. 

In the course of the Historical Address Dr. 
Wheeler gave the following sketch of the course 
of study projected by Dr. Marsh and his asso- 
ciates, for the institution. 

" The principal divisions or departments of a 
course of collegiate study are set forth in the 
laws of the University. They are four : first, the 
department of English literature ; second, the 
department of languages ; third, that of the ma- 
thematics and physics; fourth, that of political, 
moral, arid intellectual philosophy. Every year, 
during my personal connexion with the Univer- 
sity, the synopsis was carefully examined, always 
in reference to its practical execution, and com- 
monlj- in reference also to its theoretic excellence. 
How mnch this means and involves, few can un- 
derstand, who were not members of the faculty. 
If this course of study i-i carefully examined, it 
will be found to contain, perhaps, what no other 
course of collegiate study in the United States 
has so fully attempted. It seeks to give a cohe- 
rence to the various studies in each department, 
so that its several parts shall present more or 
less the unity, not of an aggregation, nor of a juxta- 
position, nor of a merely logical arrangement, but 
of a natural development, and a growth ; and 
therefore the study of it, rightly pursued, would 
be a growing and enlarging process to the mind 
of the student. It was intended also, that these 
departments of study should have a coherence of 
greater or less practical use with each other. 
The highest department, that of philosophy, it 
■was intended, should be, now the oscillating 
nerve, that should connect the various studies 
together, during the analytical instruction in 
each ; and now the embosoming atmosphere that 
should surround and interpenetrate the whole 
and each in its synthetical teachings. In philo- 
sophy the course began with crystallography — 
the lowest form of organization — and discussed 
the laws of all forms, that is, the geometry of all 
material existence. It proceeded to the laws of 
vegetable life, as the next highest ; to the laws 
of animal life,, that is to physiology, as the next; 
thence to psychology, and the connexion of the 
senses with the intellect ; — thence to the science 
of logic — the laws of the intellect, — in the acqui- 
sition and in the communication of knowledge, 
that is, the laws of universal thought, as seen in 
language and grammar ; and thence to metaphy- 
sics, as the highest and last form of speculative 
reasoning, or of contemplation. Within this pale 
it considered the spiritual characteristics of hu- 
manity, as distinguished from all other exig- 

ences. From this position moral science was 
seen to issue ; the ground of the fine arts was 
examined and made intelligible ; the principles 
of political science, as grounded in the truths of 
reason, but realized under the forms of the un- 
derstanding, was unfolded, and natural and re- 
vealed religion was shown to open the path 
where reason had readied her termination, to 
glory, honor, and immortality." 

Was born in Boston, October 26, 1791. His fa- 
ther, a native of Hingham, Mass., where thefami- 
ly had lived for five generations, was one of those 
spirited Whigs of the Revolution who engaged in 
the adventure of throwing overboard the tea in 
Boston harbor. His mother, Joanna Thayer of 
Braintree, is spoken of for her original powers of 
mind and her influence in the development of her 
son's talents. The latter was educated at the 
Franklin school at Boston, where he had for one 
of his teachers, Lemuel Shaw, now the Chief-jus- 
tice of Massachusetts. By an accident at this 
time he lost the use of his left eye. At thirteen, 
he entered a mercantile house engaged in the im- 
portation of dry-goods; and in 1816, at the age 
of twenty -five, formed a partnership with his em- 
ployers, Messrs. Thayer and Hunt, which was 
continued till 1820, when he became a teller in the 
State Bank. On the establishment of the Globe 
Bank in 1825, he was chosen its cashier, an office, 
the duties of which he has discharged with exem- 
plary fidelity to the present day. 

Halleck, another poetical cashier by the way, 
has sighed over this " bank note world" and the 
visions of the romantic past, now that 

Noble name and cultured land, 
Palace and park and vassal band, 
Are powerless to the notes of hand 
Of Rothschild or the Barings. 


But we may be contented with the change if 
bank offices produce many such poets. 

Sprague, says his recent biographer, Mr. Loring, 



"dares to acknowledge his homnge to the Nino, 
in the very temple of the money changers'; and 

enjoys, at the same time, the most favoring in- 
spirations of the former, ant the unlimited confi- 
dence of the latter. The Globe Bank has never 
faile I to ma!ce a dividend ; and its cashier has ne- 
ver failed to be at his station on the very day 
when the hqpks were opened for the purpose to 
this period."* 

The poetical writings of Mr. Sprague, of which 
there has been a recent edition, published by 
Ticknor in 1850, consist of a series of theatrical 
prize addresses which first gave the poet celebri- 
ty ; a " Shakespeare "Ode" delivered at the Bos- 
ton theatre in 1823, at the exhibition of a pageant 
in honor of the great dramatist ; his chief poem, 
Curiosity, delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa 
Society of Harvard, in 1829 ; a centennial ode the 
following year on the celebration of the settle- 
ment of Boston, and a number of poems chiefly 
on occasional topic-, which the author's care and 
ability have rendered of permanent interest. 

The dramatic odes are elegant polished com- 
positions, and possess a certain chaste eloquence 
which is a characteristic of all the author's pro- 

" Curiosity" is a succession of pleasing pictures 
illustrating this universal passion in the various 
means, low and elevated, taken for its gratifica- 
tion. The execution of the culprit, the pulpit, the 
fashionable preacher, the stage, the press, the 
learned pursuits of the antiquarian, the idle hu- 
mors of the sick chamber, the scandal and gossip 
of social life ; the incentives and delights of fo- 
reign travel ; the earnest seeking of the eye of 
faith into the mysteries of the future world: — 
these all pass in review before the reader, and are 
touched with a skilful hand. 

The Centennial Ode is a warm tribute to the 
virtues of the Pilgrim Fathers, with an animated 
sketch of the progress of national life since. 

A civic Fourth of July Oration delivered in 
Boston in 1825, and an address in 1827, before 
the Massachusetts Society for the suppression of 
intemperance, are two vigorous prose composi- 
tions, published with the author's poetical writ- 

TRE, 1321. 

When mitred Zeal, in wild, unholy days, 
Bared his red arm, and bade the fagot blaze, 
Our patriot sires the pilgrim sail unfurled, 
And Freedom pointed to a rival world. 

Where prowled the wolf, and where the hunter 
Faith raised her altars to the God she loved ; 
Toil, linked with Art, explored each savage wild, 
The lofty forest bowed, the desert smiled ; 
The startled Indian o'er the mountains flew, 
The wigwam vanished, a. id the village grew; 
Taste reared her domes, fair Science spread her page, 
And Wit and Genius gathered round the Stage! 

The Stage ! where Faney sits, creative queen, 
And waves her sceptre o'er life's mimic scene; 
Where young-eyed Wonder comes to feast his sight, 
And quaff instruction while he drinks delight. — 
The Stage! — that threads each labyrinth of the sou], 
Wakes laughter's peal and bids the tear-drop roll ; 

* Hundred Boston Orators, p. 418. 

1 That shoots at Folly, mocks proud Fashion's slave, 
Uncloaks the hypocrite, and brands the knave. 

The child of Genius, catering for the Stage, 
Rifles the wealth of every clime and age. 
lie speaks! the sepulchre resigns her prey, 
And crimson life rnns through the sleeping clay. 
The wave, the gibbet, and the battle-field, 
At his command, their festering tenants yield. 
j Pale, bleeding Love comes weeping from the torn 1 
j That kindred softness may bewail her doom ; 
i Murder's dry bones, reelothed, desert the dust, 
I That after times may own his sentence just ; 
Forgotten Wisdom, freed from death's embrace, 
Reads awful lessons to another race ; 
And the mad tyrant of some ancient shore 
Here warns a world that he can curse no more. 

May this fair dome, in classic beaut}' reared, 
By Worth be houore 1, and by Vice be feared ; 
May chastened Wit here be.;d to Virtue's cause, 
Reflect her image, and repeat her laws; 
And Guilt, that slumbers o'er the sacred page 
Hate his own likeness, shadowed from the Stage! 

Here let the Guardian of the Drama sit, 
In righteous judgment o'er the realms of wit. 
Not his the shame, with servile pen to wait 
On private friendship, or on private hate ; 
To flatter fools, or Satire's javelin dart, 
Tipped with a lie, at proud Ambition's heart : 
His be the nobler task to herald forth 
Young, blushing Merit, and neglected Worth ; 
To brand the page where Goodness finds a sneer, 
And lash the wretch that breathes the treason here! 

Here shall bright Genius wing his eagle flight. 
Rich dew-drops slinking from his plumes, 
Till high in mental worlds, from vulgar kea 
He sours, the wonder and the pride of men. 
Cold Censure here to decent Mirth shall bow, 
And Bigotry unbend his monkish brow. 
Here Toil shall pause, his ponderous sledge thrown 


And lieauty bless each strain with melting eye; 
Grief, too, in fiction lost, shall cease to weep 
And all the world's rude cares be laid to sleep. 
Eaeli polished scene shall Taste and Truth approve, 
And the Stage triumph in the people's love. 


An Ode written for the Sixth Triennial Festival of the Mazsa- 
chusetts Clucritable Jlee/uiniv Association, 1S24. 

When, from the sacred garden driven, 

Man fled before his Maker's wrath, 
An angel left her place in heaven, 

And crossed the wanderer's sunless path. 
'TwasArt! sweet Art! new radiance broke 

Where her light foot flew o'er the ground, 
And thus with seraph voice she spoke — 

" The Curse a Blessing shall be found." 

She led him through the trackless wild, 

Where noontide sunbeam never blazed; 
The thistle shrunk, the harvest smiled, 

Ami Nature gladdened as she gazed. 
Earth's thousand tribes of living tilings, 

At Art's command, to him are given ; 
The village grows, the city springs, 

And point their spires of faith to heaven. 

He rends the oak — and bids it ride, 

To guard the shores its beauty graced ; 
He smites the rock — upheaved in pride, 

See towers of strength and domes of taste. 
Earth's teeming caves their wealth reveal, 

Fire bears his banner on the wave, 
He bids the mortal poison heal, 

And leaps triumphant o'er the grave. 



Lie plucks the pearls that stud the deep, 

Admiring .Beauty's lap to fill ; 
He breaks the stubborn marble's sleep, 

And now mocks his Creator's skiiL 
With thoughts that swell his glowing soul, 

lie bids the ore illume the p:ige, 
And, proudly scorning Time's control, 

Commerces with an unborn age. 

In fields of air he writes his name, 

And treads the chambers of the sky ; 
lie reads the stars, and grasps the flame 

That quivers round the Throne on high. 
It war renowned, in peace sublime, 

He moves in greatness and in grace ; 
Ilis power, subduing spaee and lime, 

Links realm to realm, a. id rice to race. 


Withdraw yon curtain, look within that room, 
Where all is splendor, yet where all is gloom: 
Why weeps that mother? why, in pensive mood, 
Group noiseless round, that lutlc, lovely brood ? 
The battledoor is still, laid by each book, 
And the harp slumbers in i.s customed nook. 
Who hath done this? what cold, uupityii.g foe 
Hath made this house the dweiling-plaee of woe? 
Tis he, the husband, father, lost iu care, 
O'er that sweet fellow iu his crndie there: 
The gallant bark that rides by yonder strand 
Bears him to-morrow from his native hind. 
Why turns lie, half unwilling,- from his home, 
To tempt the ocean, and the earth to roam? 
Wealth lie can boast a miser's sigh would hush, 
And health is laughing in that ruddy blush; 
Friends spring to greet him, and he lias no foe — 
So honored and so blessed, what bids him go '{ — 
His eye must see, his foot each spot must tread, 
Where sleeps the dust of earth's recorded dead; 
Where rise the monu uents of ancient time, 
Pillar a..d pyramid iu age sublime ; 
The Pagan's temple and the Churchman's tower, 
War's bloodiest plain and Wisdom's greenest bower; 
All that his wonder woke in school-boy themes, 
All that his fancy fired in youthful dreams : 
Where Socrates once taught he thirsts to stray, 
Where Homer poured his everlasting lay ; 
From Virgil's tomb he longs to pluck one flower, 
By Avon's stream to live one moonlight hour ; 
To pause where England " garners up" her great, 
And drop a patriot's tear to Milton's fnte ; 
Fame's living masters, too, he must behold, 
Whose deeds shall blazon with the best of old; 
Nations compare, their laws and customs scan, 
And read, wherever spread, the book of Man ; 
For these he goes, self-banished from his hearth, 
And wrings the hearts of all he loves on earth. 

Yet say, shall not new joy those hearts inspire, 
When, grouping round the future winter fire, 
To hear the wonders of the world they burn, 
And lose his absence in his glad return ? — 
Return? — alas! he shall return no more, 
To bless his own sweet home, his own proud shore. 
Look once again — cold in his cabin now, 
Death's finger-mark is on his pallid brow ; 
No wife stood by, her patient watch to keep, 
To smile on him, then turn away to weep; 
Kind woman's place rough mariners supplied, 
And shared the wanderer's blessing when he died. 
Wrapped in the raiment that it long must wear, 
His body to the deck they slowly bear ; 
Even there the spirit that I sing is true, 
The crew look on with sad, bit curious view ; 
The setting sun flings round his farewell rays, 

O'er the broad ocean not a ripple plays; 
How eloquent, how awful, in its power, 
The 6ilent lecture of death's sabbath-hour 
One voice that silence breaks — the prayer is said, 
And the last rite man pays to man is paid; 
The plashing waters mark his resting-place, 
And fold him round iu one long, cold embrace; 
Bright bubbles for a moment sparkle o'er, 
Then break, to be, like him, beheld no more ; 
Down, countless fathoms down, he sinks to sleep, 
With all the nameless shapes that haunt the deep. 


We are but two — the others sleep 
Through Death's untroubled night; 

We are but two — 0, let us keep 
The link that binds us bright f 

Heart leaps to heart — the sacred dool 

That warms us is the same ; 
That good old man — his honest blood 

Alike we fondly claim. 

We in one mother's arms were locked — 

Long be her love repaid ; 
In the same cradle we were rocked, 

Round the same hearth we played. 

Our boyish sports were all the same, 

Each little joy and woe ; — 
Let manhood keep alive the flame, 

Lit up so long ago. 

We are but two — be that the band 

To hold us till we die ; 
Shoulder to shoulder let us stand, 

Till side by side we lie. 


Addressed to tieo SwaUawn ihntfirw into the Cliauncey Placi 
Cuurck during Divine Service. 

Gay. guiltless pair, 
What seek ye from the fields of heaven ? 

Ye have no nee 1 of prayer, 
Ye have no sins to be forgiven. 

Why perch ye here, 
Where mortals to their Maker bend? 

Can your pure spirits fear 
The God ye never could oifeud? 

Ye never knew 
The crimes for which we come to weep. 

Penance is not for you, 
Blessed wanderers of the upper deep- 
To j'ou 't is given 
To wake sweet .Nature's untaught lays ; 

Beneath the arch of heaven 
To chirp away a life of praise. 
Then spread each wing, 
Far, far above, o'er the lakes and lands, 

And join the choirs that sing 
In yon blue dome not reared with hands. 

Or, if ye stay, 
To note the consecrated hour, 

Teach me the airy way, 
And let me try your envied power. 

Above the crowd, 
On upward wings could I but fly, 
I'd bathe in yo i bright cloud, 
And seek the stars that gem the sky. 

Twere Heaven indeed 
Through fields of trackless light to soar. 
On Nature's charms to feed, 
And Nature's own great God adore. 



OnARLES James Sprague, a son of the preced- 
ing, has also written verses in a delicate vein of 
sentiment. One of these is entitled — 


" This house to let !" — so long the placard Baid, 

I across to see 
If it were dull, or dark, or comfortless, 

Or what the cause could be. 

The parlor was a pleasant little room; 

The chambers snug and light, 
The kitchen was quite neat and cheerful too, 

Although 'twas almost night. 
My mind was somewhat in a thoughtful mood, 

bo on a broken chair, 
I sat me down to moralize awhile 

Upon the silence there. 

How many changing scenes of life, thought I, 

Tins solitude recalls! 
Joy's ringing laugh and sorrow's smothered moan, 

Have echoed from these walls! 

Here in this parlor, jovial friends have met 

On raanj a winter's night! 
Ripe ale has foamed, and this old rusty grate 

bent forth a cheerful light. 

Here stood the sofa, whereupon has wooed 

Borne young and loving pair! 
Here hung the clock that timed the last caress, 

And kiss upon the stair! 

These chambers might relate a varied talc, 
Could the dumb walls find breath ; 

Of healthful slumber, and of wakeful pain — 
The birth-cry and the death. 

Some crusty bachelor has here, perhaps, 

Crept grumbling into bed ; 
Some phrensied Cm He desperately sought 

To hide his aching head. 

Some modest girl has here unrobed the charms 

Too pure for vulgar view; 
Some bride has tasted here the sweets of love, — ■ 

And curtain lectures, too. 

Tlcis little studio has seen the toil 

Of some poor poet's brain, 
His morn of hope, his disappointed day, 

And bitter night of pain. 

Or else some well paid preacher has wrought out 

His hundredth paraphrase; 
Or some old bookworm trimmed his lamp, to read 

The tale of other days. 

And what are they to whom this was a home ? 

How wide have they been cast, 
Who gathered here around the social board, 

And sported in days past? 

How many distant memories have turned 

To this deserted spot ! 
Recalling errors and reviving joys 

That cannot be forgot! 

Young love may here have heaved its dying sigh, 

When angry words were spoken ; 
Domestic tyranny may hero have reigned, 

And tender hearts have broken. 

Perchance some mother, as she passes by, 

May east a lingering gaze 
Upon the scene of many a happier hour. 

The home of her young days. 

And what are they who next will till this void 

With busy, noisy life ? 
Will this become a home of happy peace, 

Or one of wretched strife f 

la sober thought, I left the silent house, 

And gladly sought my own ; 
And wheu I passed next week, upon the door 

I saw the name of — Brown. 

Lydia TJuntley, the daughter and only child of 
Ezekiel Huntley and Sophia Wentworth, was 
born at Norwich, Conn., September 1, 1791. 
Her father, who bore a part in the war of the 
Revolution, was a man of worth and benevolence. 
His wife possessed those well balanced, unobtru- 
sive virtues of character winch marked the New 
England lady of the olden time. 

Among the happiest influences attending the 
childhood of their daughter, was the cultivated 
society of'Madam Lathrop, the widow of Dr. 
Daniel Lathrop, and the daughter of the Hon. 
John Talcott, of Hartford, who held for a succes- 
sion of years the office of Governor of Con- 
necticut,/ Mr. Huntley, having charge of her 
estate, resided with his separate family under her 
roof, and in that tine old mansion their child was 
born. J/ller precocity was exhibited in reading 
fluently at the age of three, and composing simple 
verse; at seven, smooth in rhythm, and of an in- 
variable religious sentiment. As she grew older, 
she profited by the society of the distinguished 
visitors who sought the hospitable home; and 
received in addition every advantage of educa- 
tion which could then be obtained. 

•AVhen Mi-s Huntley was fourteen, she had the 
misfortune to lose her venerable friend, who died 
at the ripe age of eighty-nine. She continued 
her studies until her nineteenth year, when she 
put into execution a plan she had long contempla- 
ted, of engaging in the work of instruction. As- 
sociating herself with her most intimate friend, 
Miss Ann Maria Hyde, who sympathized warmly in 
her scheme, a school was opened for young ladies, 
and conducted with great success for two years. 

In 1814 Miss Huntley was induced to com- 
mence a select school at Hartford, under the 
auspices of influential relatives of her early friend, 
Mrs. Lathrop. Removing to that city, she be- 
came an inmate in the mansion of Mrs. Wads- 
worth, the widow of Colonel Jeremiah Wads- 
worth, a lady of high intellectual and moral 
worth. 'It was at the suggestion, and under the 
auspices of a son of this lady, Daniel Wadsworth, 
Esq., who had known Miss Huntley from her 
infancy, that a selection from her writing-; ap- 
peared in 1815. Moral Pieces in Prone and Verse, 
the title of Miss Huntley's volume, affords a good 
indication to its contents, almost all of the short 
poems which it contains having a direct moral 
purposein view. The prose essays are introduced 
by the remark, that they were addressed to " a 
number of young ladies under her care," and the 
writer, throughout the volume, seems to have had 
her vocation of teacher in view. A poem on 
General St. Clair, "neglected and forgotten by 
his country, poor and in obscurity, on one of the 
Alleghany mountains," shows the Sympathy with 
patriotic and national topics which has character- 
ized her entire literary career. The volume was 
well received, and led to the author's engage- 
ment as a contributor to various periodicals. ' 

In the summer of 1819 Miss Huntley became 
the wife of Mr. Charles Sigoumey, a thoroughly 



educated and accomplished merchant of Hartford. 
They removed to a beautiful rural residence over- 
looking the city, where they resided for nearly 
twenty years. 

Residence of Mrs. Sigourney. 

In 1822 Mrs. Sigourney published Traits of the 
Aborigines, an historical poem, in five cantos. 
A collection of her miscellaneous ^poems was 
made about the same time in London, under the 
title of Lays from the West. In 182-1 she pub- 
lished a volume in prose, A Sketch of Connecticut 
Forty Years Since. These were followed in rapid 
succession by Letters to Young Ladies and Let- 
ters to Mothers, a collection of poem.-,* and of prose 
tales, and Poetry for Children. In 1S36 Zinzen- 
dorff and Other Poemsf appeared. The opening 
and chief production of the collection introduces 
us to the beautiful vale of Wyoming, and after an 
eloquent tribute to its scenery and historic fame, 
to the missionary Zinzendorff, doubly noble by 
ancestral rank and self-sacrificing labor, engaged 
in his missionary exertions among the Indians. 
We meet him striving to administer consolation 
by the couch of the dying chief; beneath the wide- 
spreading elm addressing the multitude on the 
subject of his mission, the welfare of their souls ; 
at his quiet devotions in his tent, watched by as- 
sassins who shrank back from their purpose as 
they saw the rattlesnake glide past his feet un- 
banning and unharmed, so calm and absorbed 
was the good man in his duty, the messengers of 
death returning to the grim savage prophet who 
had sent them on their errand, with the reply, 
that the stranger was a god. The poem closes 
with the departure of Zinzendorff at a later period 
from the infant city of Philadelphia, and an elo- 
quent tribute to missionary labor, combined with 
an exhortation to Christian union. 

The remaining poems are descriptive of natural 
scenery, commemorative of departed friends, ver- 
sifications of scripture narratives, or inculcative 
of scripture truth. A warm sympathy with mis- 
sionary effort, and with philanthropic labor of 
every description, is manifest in all. 
,- In 1841 Pocahontas and Other Poeim\ ap- 
peared. The Pocahontas is one of the longest 

« Philadelphia. 1P34, 12mo., pp. 
t New York, 12mo., pp. BOO. 
% New York, limo., pp. 284. 

(extending to fifty-six strnzas of nine lines eachj 
and also most successful of the author's produc- 
tions. It opens with a beautiful picture of the 
vague and shadowy repose of nature, which the 
imagination conceives as the condition of the New 
World prior to the possession of its shores by the 
Eastern voyagers. We have then presented the 
landing at Jamestown, and the worship in the 
church quickly raised by the pious hands of the 
colonists. The music which formed a part of 
their daily service of common prayer attracts the 
ear of the Indian, and thus naturally and beau- 
tifully brings Powhatan and his daughter on the 
scene. The rescue of Captain Smith is but 
slightly alluded to, the writer preferring to dwell 
upon the less hackneyed if not equally picturesque 
scenes before her, in the life of her heroine. We 
have her visit of warning to the English, her bap- 
tism, reception in Enghmd, marriage, quiet do- 
mestic life, and early death, all presented in an 
animated and S3 T mpathetic manner, frequently in- 
terrupted by passages of reflection in Mrs. Sigour- 
ney's best vein. The remaining poems are simi- 
lar in character to the contents of the volumes 
already noticed. 

Pleasan t Mem ories of Pleasant Lands, published 
in 1812,* is a volume of recollections in prose 
and poetry, of famous and picturesque scenes 
visited, and of hospitalities received during an 
European tour in 181-0. The greater portion of 
the " Memories" are devoted to England and Scot- 
land. The poems are descriptive, reflective, and 
occasionally in a sportive vein. During this so- 
journ in Europe, two volumes of Mrs. Sigourney's 
poems were published in London. Among the 

ayv- *iw^ 


" eytA^l^l^oy. 

gifts and tokens of kindness which greeted the 
author from various distinguished persons, was a 
splendid diamond bracelet from the Queen of the 

Myrtis, with other Etchings and Sketches, ap- 

* 12mo., pp. 80S. 



peared in 1846. In 184-8 a choice edition of tho 
author's miscellaneous poems was published, with 
illustrations from the pencil of Darley. In 1850, 
the death of her only son, ami, with the exception 
of a daughter, only child, a youth of much promise, 
at the early age of nineteen, was followed by the 
publication of The Faded Hope, a touching and 
beautiful memento of her severe bereavement. 
Mrs. Sigourney lias since published, The Western 
Home, and O'her Poems, and a graceful volume 
of prose sketches entitled, Past Meridian. 

Mrs. Sigonrney has been one of the most volu- 
minous of American female writer-, having pub- 
lished from forty to fifty different volumes.* U 
z^Her most successful efforts are her occasional 
poems, which abound in passage-! of earnest, well 
expressed thought, and exhibit in their graver 
moods a pathos combined with hopeful resigna- 
tion, characteristic of the mind trained by ex- 
ercise in self-knowledge and self-control. They 
possess energy and variety. Mrs. Sigourney's 
wide and earnest sympathy with all topics of 
friendship and philanthropy is always at the 
service of these interests, while her command 
of versification enables her to present them with 
ease and fluency. 


"How can the red men be forgotten, while so many of onr 
states and territories, bays, lakes, and rivers, are iadelibly 
stamped by names of their giving?" 

Ye say they all have passed away, 

That noble race and brave, 
That their light canoes have vanished 

From off the crested wave ; 
That 'mid the forests where they roamed 

There rings no hunter's shout, 
But their name is on your waters, 

Ye may not wash it out. 

'Tis where Ontario's billow 

Like Ocean's surge is curled, 
"Where strong Niagara's thunders wake 

The echo of the world. 
"Where red Missouri bringeth 

Rich tribute from the west, 
And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps 

On green Virginia's breast. 

Ye say their conedike cabins, 

That clustered o'er the vale, 
Have fled away like withered leaves, 

Before the autumn gale, 

* The following is a complete list of the titles of Mrs. Si- 
gourney's works, in the order of their publication : — Moral 
Pieces in Prose and Verse ; 1815. Biography and Writings of 
A. M. Hyde ; 1816. Traits of the Aborigines: a Poem ; 1S22. 
Sketch of Connecticut ; 1824. Poems; 1S27. Biography of 
Females ; 1329. Biography of Pious Persons ; 1882. Evening 
Readings in History. Letters to Young Ladies. Memoir of 
Phebe Hammond. How to be Happy; 1883. Sketches and 
Tales. Poetry for Children Select Poems. Tales and Essays 
for Children. Zinzendorff and Other Poems: 1834. History 
of Marcus Aureiius Antoninus; 1S35. Olive Buds; 1S36. 
Girl's Heading Book. Letters to Mothers ; 1883. Boy's Read- 
ing Book ; 1839. Religious Poems, Religions Souvenir, an an- 
nual, edited by Mrs. Sigournev. for 1839 and 1S40. Pocahontas 
and Other Poems: 1841. Pleasant Memories of Pleasant 
Lands. Poems: 1842. Child's Book. Scenes in My Native 
Land : 1844. Poems for the Sea. Voice of Flowers. The 
Lovely Sisters; 1845. Mvrtis and Other Sketches. Weeping 
Willow; 1S46. Water Drops: 1847. Illustrated Poems; 1848. 
Whisper to a Bride; 1849. Letters to Pupils; 1850. Olive 
Leaves. Examples of Life and Death; 1851. The Faded 
Hope. Memoir of Mrs. Harriet Newell Cook : 1852. The 
Western Home and Other Poems. Past Meridian. Sayings 
of the Little Ones, and Poems for their Mothers ; 1S54. 

But their memory liveth on your hills, 

Their baptism on your shore, 
Your everlasting rivers speak 

Their dialect of yore. 

Old Massachusetts wears it, 

Within her lordly crown, 
And broad Ohio bears it, 

Amid his young renown ; 
Connecticut hath wreathed it 

Where her quiet foliage waves, 
And bold Kentucky breathed it hoarse 

Through all her ancient caves. 

"Wachuset hides its lingering voice 

"Within his rocky heart, 
And Alleghany graves its tone 

Throng lout his lofty chart; 
Monaduock oa his forehead hoar 

Doth seal the sacred trust, 
Your mountains build their monument 

Though ye destroy their dust. 

Ye call these red-browed brethren 

The insects of an hour, 
Crushed like the noteless worm amid 

The regions of their power ; 
Ye drive them from their fathers' lands, 

Ye break of faith the seal, 
But can ye from the court of Heaven 

Exclude their last appeal ? 

Ye see their unresisting tribes, 

With toilsome step and slow, 
On through the trackless desert pass, 

A caravan of woe ; 
Think ye the Eternal's ear is deaf? 

His sleepless vision dim? 
Think ye the soul's blood may not cry 

From that far land to him * 


Morn on her rosy couch awoke, 

Enchantment led the hour, 
And mirth and musi^ drank the dews 

That freshened Beauty's flower, 
Then from her bower of deep delight, 

I heard a young girl sing, 
" Oh, speak no ill of poetry, 

For 'tis a holy thing." 

The sun in noon-day heat rose high, 

And on with heaving breast, 
I saw a weary pilgrim toil 

Unpitied and unblest, 
Yet still in trembling measures flowed 

Forth from a broken string, 
" Oh, speak no ill of poetry. 

For 'tis a holy thing." 

'Twos night, and Death the curtains drew, 

'Mid agony severe, 
While there a willing spirit went 

Home to a glorious sphere, 
Yet still it sighed, even when was spread 

The waiting Angel's wing, 
" Oh, speak no ill of poetry, 

For 'tis a holy thing." 


Yet, 'mid their cares, one hallowed dome they 

To nurse devotion's consecrated flame ; 
And there a wondering world of forests heard, 

First borne in solemn chant, Jehovah's name; 
First temple to his service, refuge dear 
From strong affliction and the alien's tear, 

How swelled the sacred song, in glad acclaim : 



England, sweet mother I many a fervent prayer 
There poured its praise to Heaven for all thy love 
and care. 

And they who 'neath the vaulted roof had bowed 

Cf some proud minster of the olden time, 
Or where the vast cathedral towards the cloud 

Reared its dark pile in symmetry sublime, 
While through the storied pane the sunbeam 

Tinting the pavement with a glorious shade, 
Now breathed from humblest fane their ancient 
chime : 
And learned they not, His presence sure might 
With every seeking soul, though bowel in lowliest 

Yet not quite unadorned their house of prayer: 
The fragrant offspring of the genial morn 

Thej- duly brought; and fondly offered there 
The bud that trembles ere the rose is born, 

The blue clematis, and the jasmine pale, 

The scarlet woodbii.e, waring in the gale, 
The rhododendron, and the snowy thorn, 

The rich magnolia, with its foliage fair, 
High priestess of the flowers, whose censer fills the 

Might not such incense please thee. Lord of love? 
Thou, who with bounteous hand dost deign to 
Some foretaste of thy Paradise above, 

To cheer the way-worn pilgrim he c below? 
Bidd'st thou 'mid parching sands the flow'ret 

Strike its frail root and raise its tinted cheek, 

And the slight pine defy the arctic snow, 
That even the skeptic's frozen eye may see 
On Nature's beauteous page what lines she writes 
of Thee ? 

What groups, at Sabbath morn, were hither led! 

Dejected men, with disappointed frown, 
Spoiled youths, the parents' darling and their 
From castles in the air hurled ruthless down, 
The sea-bro, zed mariner, the warrior brave, 
The keen gold-gatherer, graspi: g as the grave ; 
Oft, 'mid these mouldering walls, which nettles 
Stern breasts have locked their purpose and been 
And contrite spirits knelt, to learn their Maker's 

Here, in his surplice white, the pastor stood, 
A holy man, of countenance serene, 

Who, 'mid the quaking earth or fiery flood 
Unmoved, in truth's own panoply, had been 

A fair example of his own pure creed ; 

Patient of error, pitiful to need, 

Persuasive wisdom in his thoughtful mien, 

And in that Teacher's heavenly meekness blessed, 
Who laved his followers' feet with towel-girded 

Music upon the breeze ! the savage stays 
His flying arrow as the stiain goes by ; 
He starts! he listens! lost in deep amaze, 

Breath half-suppressed, and lightning in his eye. 
Have the clouds spoken ? Do the spirits rise 
From his dead fathers' graves, with wildering 
Oft doth he muse, 'nenth midnight's solemn sky, 
On tho*e deep tones, which, rising o'er the sod, 
Bore forth, from hill to hill, the white man's hymn 
to God. 


' Abide with us, for it i3 now evening, and the day of life is 
far spent.*' 

Bishop Andeews. 

The bright and blooming morn of youth 

llnth faded from tlie sky, 
And the fresh garlands of our hope 

Are withered, sere, and dry ; 
O Thou, whose being hath no end, 

Whose years can ne'er decay, 
Whose strength and wisdom are our trust, 

Abide with us, we pray. 

Behold the noonday sun of life 

Doth seek its western bound, 
And fast the lengthening shadows cast 

A heavier gloom around, 
And all the glow worm lamps are dead, 

That, kindling round our way, 
Gave fickle promises of joy — 

Abide with us, we pray. 

Dim eve draws on, and many a friend 

Our early path that blessed, 
Wrapped in the cerements of the tomb, 

Have laid them down to rest ; 
But Thou, the Everlasting Friend, 

Whose Spirit's glorious ray 
Can gild the dreary vale of death, 

Abide with us, we pray. 


Blue-bird ! on yon leafless tree, 
Dost thou carol thus to me, 

" Spring is coming ! Spring is here ! " 
Say'st thou so, my birdie dear ? 
What is that in misty shroud 
Stealing from the darkened cloud! 
Lo! the snow-flake's gathering mound 
Settles o'er the whitened ground, 
Yet thou singest, blithe and clear, 

" Spring is coming ! Spring is here' " 

Strik'st thou not too bold a strain? 
Winds are piping o'er the plain, 
Clouds are sweeping o'er the sky. 
With a black and threatening eye; 
Urchins by the frozen rill 
Wrap their mantles closer still; 
Yo.i poor man, with doublet old, 
Doth he shiver at the cold? 
Hath he not a nose of blue? 
Tell me, birdling — tell me true? 

Spring's a maid of mirth and glee, 
Busy wreaths and revelry ; 
Hast thou wooed some winged love 
To a nest in verdant giove? 
Sung to her of greenwood bower. 
Sunny skies that never lower ? 
Lured her with thy promise fair. 
Of a lot that ne'er knows care? 
Prithee, bird in coat of blue, 
Though a lover — tell her true. 

Ask her, if when storms are long, 
She can sing a cheerful song? 
When the rude winds rock the tree, 
If she'll closer cling to thee? 
Then, the blasts that sweep the sky, 
Unappalled shall pass thee by ; 
Though thy curtained chamber show. 
Sittings of untimely snow, 
Warm and glad thy heart shall be, 
Love shall make it spring for thee. 




I said with a moan, as [ roamed a'one, 

By the side of the solemn sea, — 
"Oh cast at my feet which thy billows meet 

Some toke.i to comfort me. 
'Mid thy surges cold, a ring of gold 

I have lost, with an amethyst b.ig'it, 
Tho'i hast locked it so long, i,i thy casket strong, 

That the rust must have quenched its light. 

"Send a gift, I pray, oa thy sheeted spray, 

To solace my drooping mind. 
For I'm sad and grieve, and ere long must leave 

This rolling globe behind." 
The.i the Sea answered, "Spoils arc mine, 

From many an a gosy, 
An 1 pearl-drops sleep i:i my bosom deep, 

But naught have 1 there for thee! " 

" When I muse 1 before, on this rock-bound shore, 

The beautiful walke I with me. 
She hath gone to her rest in the c lurcbyard's breast 

Since 1 saw thee last, thou sea ! 
Restore! restore! the smile she wore, 

Whe i her cheek to mine was pressed, 
Give back thevoiee of the fervent soul 

That could lighten the darkest b.east! " 

But the haughty Sea, in its majesty 

Swept onward as before, 
Though a surge in wrath from its ro;ky path, 

Shrieked o it to the sounding shore — 
" T.iou hast aske 1 of our kii:g. a harder thing 

Than mortal e'er elainie 1 before, 
For never the we ilth of a loving heart, 

Could Oeea.i or Earth restore." 

J. M. Wain'wmout wis born at Liverpool, Eng- 
land, February 24, 171)2. His father, an English- 
man by birth, had settled in America after the 
Revolution an 1 married a daughter of Dr. May- 
hew, the celebrated clergyman in Boston of that 
era. His residence in Englan 1, at the time of his 
son's birth, was not per nanent, and the family 
not long after returnsd to America. The future 
Bishop graduated at Harvard in 1812, and sub- 
sequently wis Tutor of Rhetoric and Oratory in 
that Institution. Ha early chose the Ministry of 
the Episcopal Church as his calling. When 
minister at Hartford, Ct., in 1819, he published 
Charts, adipted to the Hymns in the Morning 
and Evening Service of the Pro' extant Episcopal 
Ghwrch, an 1 afterwards, in 1828, issue I a volume 
of Music of the Ciurch, and again, in 1851, in 
conjunction with Dr. Muhlenberg, The Choir and 
Family Psidter ; a collection of fie Psalms of 
David, with the Cant'cles of the Morning and 
Evening Prayer of the Episc ipal service, arranged 
for chanting. He was always a devoted lc»ver 
of music. When Malibran vi sited America, she 
sang on several occasions in the choir of Grace 
Church, with which Dr. Wainwright was long 
connected as pastor, in New York. His employ- 
ments in the official duties of his church were 
various. He left New York for a time to be 
Rector of Trinity Church, in Boston. When he 
was chosen Provisional Bishop of New York in 
1852, he was connected with Trinity Parish in 
the city. He would have been elected to that 
office in the previous year had he not cast his 
own vote against himself. He wa- indefatigable 
in the duties of his Bishopric during the severe 
heats of 1851, and in the autumn of that year, 

September 21, he died, prostrated by an attack 
of severe remittent fever. His chief literary 
works were two volumes of descriptive foreign 
travel, published in 1850 and the following year, 
after his return from a tour to the East. They 
bear the titles. The Pathways and Abiding 
Places of Our Lord, i'ltistra'e I in the Journal 
of a Tour through the Land of Promise and the 
Lund of Bondage ; its Ancient Monuments and 
Present Condition, being the Journal of a Tour 
in Egypt. The style is pleasing and flowing, and 
the devotional sentiment uniformly maintained. 
Dr. W. also edited for Messrs. Appleton two 
illustrated volumes, The Women of the Bible, and 
Our Saviour with Prophe's and Apostles. 

Dr. Wainwright was engaged in a de'once of 
Episcopacy, in a controversy with the R^v. Dr. 
Potts of the Presbyterian Church of New York, 
which grew out of a remark let fall by Ruins 
Choate, at the annual celebration of the New 
England Society, in New York, in 1843, in which 
the orator complimented a people who had planted 
"a state without a king, and a church without a 
bishop." At the dinner which followed, Dr. 
Wainwright, an invited guest, took exception to 
the saving, and was challenged to the contro- 
versy by Dr. Potts. 

The die mrsos published by Dr. W. were few. 
In 182!) he published a thin octavo of Sermons on. 
Religious Education and Filial Duty. His 
social influence was great. Courtly and easy in 
his manners, and taking part in the active inter- 
ests of the day, ho was universally known, and a 
general favorite in the city in which he resided. 
He ssisted in the formation of the University of 
the city of New York. His reading in the Church 
services was much admired, his voice being finely 
modulated, with a delicate emphasis. As a 
preacher his style was finished in an ample rheto- 
rical manner. 

Edwix C. Holland, a lawyer of Charleston, S. 
C, published in 1814 a volume of Odes, Naval 
Songs, and other occasional Poems, suggested for 
the most part by the war with England pending 
during their first publication in the Port Folio. 
His style is fluent, and occasionally somewhat too 
ornate and grandiloquent. One of the most 
spirited compositions is his prize poem — 


Hail to the heroes whose triumphs have brightened 

The darkness which shrou le 1 America's name; 
Long shall their valour in battle that lightened, 
Live in the brilliant escutcheons of fame: 

Dark where the torrents flow, 

And the rude tempests blow. 
The stormy clad spirit of Albion raves ; 

Long shall she mourn the day, 

When in the vengeful fray, 
Liberty walked like a god on the wave3. 

The ocean, ye chiefs, (the region of glory, 

Where fortune has destined Columbia to reign,) 
Gleams with the halo and lustre of story, 

That curl round the waves as the scene of hor 
fame : 

There, on its rnging tide. 
Shall her proud navy ride. 
The bulwark of Freedom, protected by Heaven ; 



There shall her haughty foe 
Low to her prowess low, 
There shall renown to her heroes be given. 

The pillar of glory, the sea that enlightens, 

Shall last till eternity rocks on its base; 
The splendour of Fame, its waters that brightens, 
Shall light the footsteps of Time in his race: 

"Wide o'er the stormy deep, 

Where the rude surges sweep, 
Its lustre shall circle the brows of the brave ; 

Honour shall give it light, 

Triumph shall keep it bright, 
Long as in battle we meet on the wave. 

Already the storm of contention lias hurled, 

From the grasp of Old England, the trident of war; 
The beams of our stars have illumined the world, 
Unfurled our standard beats proud in the air : 

Wild glares the eagle's eye, 

Swift as he cuts the sky, 
Marking the wake where our heroes advance; 

Compassed with rays of light, . 

Hovers he o'er the fight; 
Albion is heartless, and stoops to his glance. 


Was born in Charleston, South Carolina, in 1792. 
In straitened circumstances and of a limited edu- 
cation, and while following the trade of a me- 
chanic, lie wrote verses which were received with 
favor. His conversational abilities are also re- 
membered by his friends witli pleasure. In the 
year 1836 lie went to St. Augustine as the captain 
of a militia corps of Charleston, which had vo- 
lunteered to garrison that town for a certain pe- 
riod against the attacks of the Indians. In this 
expedition he contracted, from exposure, a dii-ease 
which resulted in his death two years after- 


Harry ! my little blue-eyed boy ! 

I love to hear thee playing near, 
There's music in thy shouts of joy 

To a fond father's ear. 

I love to see the lines of mirth 

Mantle thy cheek and forehead fair, 

As if all pleasures of the earth 
Had met to revel there. 

For gazing on thee do I sigh 

That these most happy hours will flee, 

And thy full shnre of misery 
Must fall in life to thee. 

There is no lasting grief below, 

My Harry, that flows not from guilt — 

Thou can'st not read my meaning now, 
In after times thou wilt. 

Thou'lt read it when the churchyard clay 
Shall lie upon thy father's breast, 

.And he, though dead, will point the way 
Thou shalt be always blest. 

They'll tell thee this terrestrial ball, 
To man for his enjoyment given, 

Is but a state of sinful thrall 
To keep the soul from Heaven. 

My boy ! the verdure-crowned hills, 

The vales where flowers innumerous blow, 

The music often thousand rills, 
Will tell thee 't is not so. 

God is no tyrant who would spread 
Unnumbered dainties to the eyes, 

Yet teach the hungering child to dread 
That touching them, he dies. 

No ! all can do his creatures good 

He scatters round with hand profuse — 

The only precept understood — 
" Enjoy, but not abuse." 

Henry Timrod, the son of the preceding, is a 
resident of the city of Charleston. His verses, 
which keep the promise of his father's reputa- 
tion, have usually appeared in the Southern Lite- 
rary Messenger with the signature " Aglaus." 


To-day's most trivial act may hold the seed 
Of future fruitfulness, or future dearth — 

Oh, cherish always every word and deed, 
The simplest lecord of thyself has worth. 

If thou hast ever slighted one old thought. 
Beware lest Grief enforce the truth at last — 

The time must come wherein thou shalt be taught 
The value and the beauty of the Past. 

Not merely as a Warner and a Guide, 

" A voice behind thee" sounding to the strife— 

But something never to be put aside, 
A part and parcel of thy present life. 

Not as a distant and a darkened sky 

Through which the stars peep, and the moonbeams 
glow — 
But a surrounding atmosphere whereby 

We live and breathe, sustained 'mid pain and woe. 

A Fairy-land, where joy and sorrow kiss — 
Each still to each corrective and relief — - 

Where dim delights are brightened into bliss, 
And nothing wholly perishes but grief. 

Ah me! not dies — no more than spirit dies — 

But in aehai ge like death is clothed with wings — 

A serious angel with entranced eyes 
Looking to far off and celestial things. 


TnE ancestors of John Howard Payne were men 
of eminence. His paternal grandfather wasa mi- 
litary officer and member of the Provincial Assem- 
bly of Massachusetts; and Dr. Osborn, the author 
of the celebrated whaling song, and Judge Paine, 
one of the signers of the Declaration of Independ- 
ence, were of the family. His father was educated 
as a physician under General Warren, but soon 
abandoned the profession, owing to the unsettled 
state of affairs caused by the Revolution, and be- 
came a teacher, a calling in which he attained 
high eminence. Mr. Pajne was the child of his 
second wife, the daughter of a highly respected 
inhabitant of the ancient village of East Hamp- 
toif, Long Island, where his tombstone bears 
the simple epitaph, " An Israelite, indeed, in 
whom there was no guile." The oft-repeated 
story is first told of him, that sending a present 
of cranberries to a friend in England, he received, 
with the news of their arrival, the information 
that the fruit " had all turned sour upon the 
way." Payne's father, after an unsuccessful mer- 
cantile venture, became a resident of East Hamp- 
ton, and the principal of the Clinton Academy, 
an institution of high reputation throughout the 
island, which owed its foundation to the reputa- 
tion of Mr. Payne as a teacher. He afterwards 
removed to New York, where John Howard 
Payne was born June 9, 1792. He was one of 



the eldest of nine children — seven sons and two 
daughters. One of the latter shared to some 
extent in his precocious fame. At the age of 
fourteen, after eight days' study of the Latin lan- 
guage, she underwent an examination by the 
classical professors of Harvard College, and dis- 
played a remarkable skill in construing and pars- 
ing. She was afterwards highly distinguished as 
an amateur artist, and her literary compositions, 
none of which have been published, and corre- 
spondence, were said, by some of the best author- 
ities of the country, to have been " among the 
most favorable specimens of female genius exist- 
ing in America." Soon after Payne's birth, his 
father accepted the charge of a new educational 
establishment in Boston, and the family removed 
to that city. Here our author first came before 
the public as the leader of a military association 
of schoolboys who paraded the streets, and be- 
came the town-talk. On one occasion of gene- 
ral parade, when drawn up in the common near 
the regular troops, they were formally invited 
into the ranks, and reviewed by the commanding 
officer, Major-General Elliott. We soon after 
hear of him on a scene which was a nearer ap- 
proach to that of his future fame. His father 
was highly celebrated as an elocutionist. A ner- 
vous complaint, by which the son was incapaci- 
tated for two or three years from severe study, 
was supposed to be benefited by exercises of this 
character. The pupil showed a remarkable apti- 
tude, and soon became a leader in the school 
exhibitions in soliloquy and dialogue. A Boston 
actor, fresh from the performances of Master 
Betty in London, whose reputation was then world- 
wide, was so struck with the ability of Master 
Payne, that he urged his father to allow him to 
bring out the youth on the stage as the young 
American Roscius. The offer, much to the 
chagrin of its subject, was declined. He made 
his debut, however, in literature, becoming a 
contributor to a juvenile paper called the Fly, 
which was published by Samuel Woodworth, 
from the office where he worked as a printer's 

At this period, William Osborn, Payne's eldest 
brother, a partner in the mercantile house of 
Forbes and Payne, died, and partly with a view 
of weaning him from the stage, the would-be 
Roscius was set to " cramp his genius" among 
the folios of the counting-house of Mr. Forbes, 
who continued the business of the late firm, in the 
hope that Payne might ultimately fill the deceased 
brother's place. He was, however, no sooner 
installed in the new post in New York, than he 
commenced the publication of a little periodical, 
entitled The Thespian Mirror. One " Criti- 
cus" demurred to some of its statements and 
opinions, and the announcement in the Evening 
Post, that his communication would appear in 
the next newspaper, brought a letter to the 
editor from his juvenile contemporary, who, 
fearful of the anger of his relations, who were 
ignorant of his publication, besought the senior 
not to allow his incognito to be broken. Mr. 
Coleman invited Payne to call upon him, na- 
turally interested in a boy of thirteen, who 
was a brother editor, and, as he states in his 
paper of Jan. 2-i, 1806, was much pleased with 
the interview. " His answers," he says, " were 
such as to dispel all doubts as to any imposition, 
and I found that it required an effort on my part 
to keep up the conversation in as choice a style 
as his own." Mr. Coleman's object in making 
the incident public, in spite of Payne's objections, 
was to call attention to his remarkable merits, 
and to create an interest in his career. In this 
he was so successful, that a benevolent gentleman 
of this city, Mr. John E. Seaman, volunteered to 
defray the youth's expenses at Union College. 
The offer was gladly accepted, and Payne took 
his departure for Albany in a sloop, in company 
with his friend and kind adviser, Charles Brock- 
den Brown. He kept a journal of the tour, of 
which the following poetical fragment is all that 
has been preserved : — 

On the deck of the slow-sailing vessel, alone, 
As I silently sat, all was mute as the gi'.ive; 

It was night — and the moon mildly beautiful shone, 
Lighting up with her soft smile the quivering 

So bewitchbigly gentle and pure was its beam, 
In tenderness watching o'er nature's repose, 

Th;it I likened its ray to Christianity's gleam, 

When it mellows and soothes without chasing our 

And I felt such an exquisite mildness of sorrow, 
While entranced by the tremulous glow of the 

That I longed to prevent the intrusion of morrow, 
And stayed there for ever to wonder and weep. 

At college he started a periodical, called The 
Pastime, which became very popular among tho 
students. The busybodies, who had pestered 
him with their advice after Mr. Coleman's publi- 
cation in New York, ■continued their favors to 
him at Schenectady, especially after the publica- 
tion of a Fourth of July ode, which was com- 
posed by Payne, and sung by the students in 
one of the churches. The author, as a joke, 
published an article in one of the Albany papers, 
berating himself, after the manner of his critics, 
in round terms. It produced a sensation among 
his associates, many of whom turned the cold 



shoulder upon him. The affair came to an issue 
at a supper party, where an individual gave as 
a toast " The Critics of Albany," and was, in 
common with the other carpers, satisfactorily 
nonplus-ed by Payne's quietly rising and return- 
ing thanks. 

Soon after Payne's establishment at college, he 
lost his mother. The effect of this calamity on 
his father, already much broken by disease, was 
such as to incapacitate him for attention to his 
affairs, which had become involved, and his 
bankruptcy speedily followed. In this juncture, 
the son insisted upon trying the stage as a means 
of support, and obtaining the consent of his 
patron and parent, made his first appearance at 

The Park Theatre. 

the Park Theatre as Young Norval on the even- 
ing of February 2-t, 1809, in his sixteenth year. 
The performance, like those of the entire engage- 
ment, was highly successful. A writer, who had 
seen Garrick and all the great actors since his 
day, said, " I have seen Master Payne in Douglas, 
Zaphna, Solim, and Octavian, and may truly say, 
I think him superior to Betty in all. There was 
one scene of his Zaphna, which exhibited more 
taste and sensilility than I have witnessed since 
the davs of Garrick. He has astonished every- 

From New York Payne went to Philadelphia, 
and afterwards to Boston, performing with great 
success in both cities. He also appeared at Balti- 
more, Richmond, and Cbarleston, where Henry 
Placide, afterwards the celebrated comedian of 
the Park Tbeatre, gained his first success by a 
capital imitation of his style of acting. 

On his return to New York, after these en- 
gagements, Payne yielded to the wishes of his 
family by retiring from the stage, and started a 
circulating library and reading-room, the Athe- 
naeum, which he designed to expand into a great 
public institution. Soon after this, George Fre- 
derick Cooke arrived in America. Payne, of 
course, became acquainted with him, and was very 
kindly treated by the great tragedian, who urged 
him to try his fortune on the London stage. 
They appeared once at the Park Theatre to- 
gether, Payne playing Edgar to Cooke's Lear. 
Other joint performances were planned, but 

evaded by Cooke, whose pride was hurt at " hav- 
ing a boy called in to support him." The 
Athenaeum speculation proving unprofitable, he 
returned to the stage. While playing an engage- 
ment at Boston, his father died. He afterwards 
played in Philadelphia and Baltimore. During 
his stay in the latter city, the printing-office of 
his friend Hanson, an editor, was attacked by a 
mob during the absence of its proprietor. He 
offered his services, and rendered essential aid to 
the paper at the crisis, and Mr. Hanson not only 
publicly acknowledged his services, but exerted 
himself in aiding his young friend to obtain the 
means to visit Europe. By the liberality of a 
few gentlemen of Baltimore this was effected, 
and Payne sailed from New York on the seven- 
teenth of January, 1813, intending to be absent 
but one year. His first experience of England, 
where he arrived in Februaiy, was a brief im- 
prisonment in Liverpool, the mayor of that city 
having determined to act with rigor in the ab- 
sence of instructions from government respecting 

On arriving in Lcndcn, he spent several weeks 
in sight-seeing before applying to the managers. 
By the influence of powerful persons to whom he 
brought letters, he obtained a hearing from Mr. 
"Whitbread of Drury Lane, and appeared at that 
theatre as Douglas, the performance being an- 
nounced on the bills .as by a young gentleman, 
" his first appearance," it being deemed advisable 
to obtain an unbiassed verdict from the audience. 
The debut was successful, and lie was announced 
in the bills of his next night as "Mr. Payne, from 
the theatres of New York and Philadelphia." 
After playing a triumphant engagement, he made 
the circuit of the provinces, and, upon his return 
to London, visited Paris principally for the pur- 
pose of seeing Talma, by whom he was most cor- 
dially received. Bonaparte returned from Elba 
scon after his arrival, and he consequently re- 
mained in Paris during the Hundred Days. He 
then repaired to London, taking with him a 
translation of a popular French melodrama, The 
Maid and the Magpie, which he had made as 
an exercise in the study of the language with- 
out any view to representation. He was asked 
to play at Drury Lane, but by the influence of Mr. 
Kinnaird, one of the committee of stockholders 
who then conducted the management, his reap- 
pearance was po:-tponed until a more favorable 
period of the theatrical season. Happening to be 
questioned about the famous new piece in Paris, 
Payne produced his version, and it was read by 
Mr. Kinnaird, who was so much pleased that he 
proposed to the translator to return to Paris for 
the purpose of watching the French stage, and 
sending over adaptations of the best pieces for the 
Drury Lane management, regretting, at the same 
time, that having engaged a translation of The 
Maid and the Magpie, it was impossible to pro- 
duce Mr. Payne's superior version. He accepted 
the proposal, but before his departure, Mr. Harris, 
the rival manager of Covent Garden, purchased 
his manuscript of The Maid and the Magpie for 
one hundred and fifty pounds. Soon after his 
arrival, he sent over the play of Accusation, so 
carefully prepared for the stage, that it was per- 
formed six days, after its reception, and was suc- 
cessful. Payne remained steadily at work for 



soma months, sending over translations and drafts 
for cash to meet the heavy expenses incurred by 
his agency ; but finding that the first were not 
produced, and the second not paid, returned to 
London to settle matters. Here the contract was 
repudiated by the management, on the ground 
that it was made by Mr. Kinnaird in his private 
capacity, and not as a member of the committee. 
In the midst of the controversy, Harri ;, the rival 
manager, stepped in and engaged Payne for Co- 
vent Garden at a salary of £300 for the season, to 
appear occasionally in leading parts, anil look 
after the literary interests of the theatre, further 
remuneration being secured in the event of ori- 
ginal pieces or translations from his pen being 
produced. The arrangement lasted but one sea- 
son, difficulties springing up in the company with 
regard to the distribution of parts. Payne was 
repeatedly announced to appear in the tragedy 
of Adelgitha by Monk Lewis, in connexion with 
Miss O'Xeil, and Messrs. Young and Macready, 
and was naturally desirous of taking part in so 
strong a cast, but the performance was postponed, 
as the appointed evening approached, by the 
" indisposition " of one or another of his col- 
leagues. Towards the close of the season he 
sprained his ankle, and so was prevented from 
appearing. On his recovery he was offered the 
parts in which Charles Kemble had appeared, a 
proposal which, not wishing to bring- himself 
into direct comparison with an established favor- 
ite, and incur the charge of presumption from the 
public, he declined. This led to a rupture, and 
the close of the engagement with Harris. 

Released from this charge, Payne devoted him- 
self to a tragedy, which he had long planned, on 
the subject of Brutus. It was designed fir, and 
accepted by Kean, and produced by him at 
Drury Lane, December 4, 1818, with a success 
unexampled for years. In the height of its popu- 
larity, the printer of the theatre made the author 
an offer for the copyright; which was accepted. 
It was printed with the greatest expedition, the 
manuscript being taken, page by page, from the 
prompter during the performance, to a cellar 
under the stage, where the author descending to 
. correct the proofs, found to his surprise that 
august body, the Roman senate, busy, with their 
togas thrown over their shoulders, "setting type." 
The hurry necessitated a brief preface, but in it 
the author made a distinct avowal of his obliga- 
tions to the plays on the same subject, no less 
than seven in number, which had preceded his. 
" I have had no hesitation," he says in it, " in 
adopting the conceptions and language of my 
predecessors, wherever they seemed likely to 
strengthen the plan which I had prescribed." 
The play was published, and in spite of the 
avowal we have quoted, the cry of plagiarism 
was raised. A long discussion of the question 
ensued. " zE*ehylu=" and " Vindex" maintained 
a long and angry controversy in the Morning 
Post, and many other periodicals were similarly 
occupied. Payne had been too long before the 
public not to have made enemies. He was 
assailed on all sides. One of the very proprietors 
who were making money out of the piece, told 
him that the owners of Cumberland's play of the 
Sybil, one of the seven predecessors of Brutus, 
intended to bring an action for the invasion of 

the copyright, and that an injunction on the per- 
formance of the play by the government, on the 
ground of the dangerous democratic sentiments 
it contained, was anticipated. 

He promptly di-posed of these charges by 
notes, which produced emphatic disclaimers of 
the alleged designs by the publisher of Cumber- 
land's works, and Sir William Scott, who was 
said to have suggested the injunction to his 
brother the Lord Chancellor. 

The dramatist met with as harsh and unfair 
treatment within as without the theatre. The 
proceeds of the benefits, which were the stipu- 
lated sources of his remuneration, were reduced 
on varioti- pretences; and the leading performer, 
whose popularity had received a powerful impulse 
from the run of the piece, presented a gold snuff- 
box to the stage-manager, but made no acknow- 
ledgment of his indebtedness to the author. At 
the suggestion of the actor, the dramatist wrote and 
submitted a second classical play, Virginiw, which 
was laid aside in favor of one on the same subject 
by a competitor, whose production was damned 
the first night. Annoyed by these and similar 
mishaps, Mr. Payne ' leased Sadlers' Wells, a 
theatre then on the outskirts of the city, and be- 
came a manager. lie produced several new 
pieces, and appeared himself with success, but 
the situation and previous character of the house, 
and the interruption of the performances by 
deaths which occurred in the royal family, were 
obstacles which he could not surmount, and ho 
retired at the end of the season sadly put of pocket. 

His next play was Therese, or the Orphan of 
Geneva, adapted from a French original, and pro- 
duced by EHiston, who had succeeded the com- 
mittee of Drury Lane as manager of that theatre 
It was very successful, but the author's profits 
were impaired by the production of a pirated 
copy, taken down in shorthand during the per- 
formance of the original, at a minor theatre, and 
a rival version at Covent Garden. 

Payne next went to Paris, in the interests of 
Elliston. Here he was visited by one Burroughs, 
who made a similar contract for the Surrey 
Theatre. Both proved bad paymasters, and Payne 
is said to have suffered much from actual want. 

Meanwhile, Charles Kemble became manager 
of Covent Garden, and applied, like his predeces- 
sors and rivals, to Payne for aid. He offered the 
new manager a number of manuscripts for £230. 
The odd thirty was the value set opposite the 
piece afterwards called Clari. Kemble closed 
with the offer, and produced this piece, which, at 
his request, the author had converted into an 
opera. It made the fortune of every one promi- 
nently connected with it, except the usual excep- 
tion in these cases — the author. It gained for 
Miss M. Tree (the elder sister of Mrs. Charles 
Ke.'m), who first sang "Home, sweet Home," a 
wealthy husband, aud filled the house and the 


'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, 
Still, be it ever so humble, there's no place like 

home ; 
A charm from the skies seems to hallow it there, 
Which, go through the world, you'll not meet else 




Home, home, 
Sweet home ! 
There's no place like home — 
There's no place like home. 

An exile from home, pleasure dazzles in rain, 
Ah I give me my lowly thatched cottage again; 
The birds singing sweetly, that came to my call — 
Give me them, and that peace of mind, dearer than 

Home, home, <£e. 

Upwards of one hundred thousand copies of the 
song were estimated in 1832 to have been sold by 
the original publishers, whose profits, within two 
years alter it was issued, are said to have amounted 
to two thousand guineas. It is known all over the 
world, and doubtless, years after its composition, 
saluted its author's ears in far off Tunis. He 
not only lost the twenty-five pounds which was 
to have been paid for the copyright on the 
twentieth night of performance, but was not 
even complimented with a copy of bis own song 
by the publisher. Author and actor soon after 
made a great hit in Charles the Second. It be- 
came one of Kemble's most favorite parts. The 
author sold the copyright for fifty pounds, one 
quarter of the average price paid for a piece of 
its length. 

Soon after this, Payne returned to London, on 
a visit to superintend the production of his ver- 
sion of a French opera, La Lame Blanche, and 
started a periodical called The Opera Glass. Its 
publication was interrupted by a long and severe 
illness. On his recovery he found Stephen Price, 
with whom be had had difficulties in the Young 
Eoscius days at the Park, vice Elliston, bank- 
rupt. Price still showed Payne the cold shoul- 
der, and soon followed Elliston, with his pockets in 
a similar condition. Charles Kemble held on, but 
with almost as much ill success. These gloomy 
theatrical prospects led to Payne's return home, 
in August, 1832. Soon after his return he issued 
the prospectus of a periodical, with the fanciful 
title, JamJehan Niina, meaning the Goblet where- 
in you may behold the Universe. " It is scarcely 
necessary to add," says the prospectus, " that the 
allusion is to that famous cup, supposed to possess 
the strange property of representing in it the 
whole world, and all the things which were then 
doing, — and celebrated as Jami Jemsheed, the cup 
of Jemshud, a very ancient king of Per.-ia, and 
which is said to have been discovered in digging 
the foundations of Persepolis, filled with the 
elixir of immortality." The work was to appear 
simultaneously in England and the United States, 
and be contributed to by the best authors of both 
countries ; to be the organ of American opinion in 
Europe, and of correct views of Europe in Ame- 
rica. It was to be published in weekly numbers, 
of thirty-two octavo pages, at an annual subscrip- 
tion price of ten dollars.' The affair never, how- 
ever, got beyond a prospectus of eight pages, of 
unusually magnificent promise even among the 
hopeful productions of its class. 

He contributed, in 1838, to the recently esta- 
blished Democratic Review, a number of prose 
papers, one of which contains his pleasant picture 
of East Hampton. During this period, while 
travelling in the southern states, he was arrested 
by some over-zealous soldiers belonging to the 

forces raised against the Seminoles, as a sym- 
pathizer with the enemy, and was not released 
until some days after. His amusing account of 
the occurrence went the rounds of the newspapers 
of the time. 

He not long after received the appointment of 
Consul at Tunis, where he remained a few years, 
and then returned to the United States. After an 
ineffectual solicitation for a diplomatic post more 
in accordance with his wishes, he accepted a re- 
appointment to Tunis. He died soon after, in 

At the time of Payne's return, in 1832, two 
long and interesting articles on his career were 
published in the New York Mirror, from the pen 
of his friend Theodore S. Fay. "We are indebted 
to these for our full account of Pajme's experi- 
ences with the London managers, a curious chap- 
ter of literary history, which could not, without 
injury to its interest, have been compressed in 
closer limits. 

Our portrait is from an original and very beau- 
tifully executed miniature by Wood, and repre- 
sents the young Eoscius about the period of his 
first histrionic triumphs. 

For the Thirty-First Anniversary of American 

. WritteD as a College Exercise. 

When erst our sires their sails unfurled, 

To brave the trackless sea, 
They boldly sought an unknown world, 

Determined to be free! 
They saw their homes recede afar, 

the pale blue hills diverge, 
And, Liberty their guiding star, 

They ploughed the swelling surge! 

No splendid hope their wand'iings cheered, 

No lust of wealth beguiled ; — 
They left the towers that plenty reared 

To seek the desert wild ; 
The climes where proud luxuriance shone. 

Exchanged for forests drear; 
The splendour of a Tyrant's throne, 

For honest Freedom here ! 

Though hungry wolves the nightly prowl 

Around their log-hut took ; 
Though savages with hideous howl 

Their wild-wood shelter shook; 
Though tomahawks around them glared, — 

To Fear could such hearts yield ? 
Ko ! God, for whom they danger dared, 

In danger was their shield ! 

When giant Power, with blood-stained crest, 

Here grasped his gory lance, 
And dared the warriors of the West 

Embattled to advance, — 
Our young Columbia sprang, alone 

(In God her only trust), 
And humbled, with a sling and stone, 

This monster to the dust! 

Thus nobly rose our greater Rome, 

Bright daughter of the skies, — 
Of Liberty the hallowed home, 

Whose turrets proudly rise, — 
Whose sails now whiten every sea, 

On every wave unfurled ; 
Formed to be happy, great, and free, 

The Eden of the world 1 



Shall wo, the sons of valiant sires, 

Such glories tamely stain? 
Shall these rich vales, these splendid spires, 

E'er brook a monarch's reign ? 
No! If the Despot's iron hand 

Must here a sceptre wave, 
Razed be those glories from the land, 

And be the land our gravel 


Where the chilling north wind howls, 
Where the weeds so wildly wave, 

Mourned by the weeping willow, 

Washed by the beating billow, 
Lies the youthful P.oet's grave. 

Beneath yon little eminence, 
Marked by the gniss-green turf, 

The winding-sheet his form encloses, 
On the cold rock his head reposes — 
Near him foams the troubled surf! 

" Roars around" his tomb " the ocean," 
Pensive sleeps the moon-beam there 1 

Naiads love to wreathe his urn — 

Dryads thither hie to mourn — 
Fairy music melts in air ! 

O'er his tomb the village virgins 

Love to drop the tribute tear ; 
Stealing from the groves around, 
Soft they tread the hallowed ground. 

And scatter wild flowers o'er his bier. 

By the cold earth mantled — 

All alone — ■ 
Pale and lifeless lies his form : 
Ba':ters on his grave the storm : 
Silent now his tuneful numbers, 
Here the son of Genius slumbers: 
Stranger! mark his burial-stone! 

The author, in a note, regrets that he has not 
space to insert the music composed for these 
verses by Miss Eleanor Augusta Johnson, who, at 
the tender age of fourteen, has thrown into her 
valued complement to the poetry, a skill and 
expressiveness which, for one so young, may be 
regarded as little less than miraculous. 

Was born in Philadelphia August 19, 1793, and 
commenced the study of law in that city in 1811. 
At this period he saw something of military life. 
In 1813 lie was one of a company of volunteers, 
the Washington Guards, commanded by Condy 
Raguet, Esq., afterwards United States Minister 
to Brazil, who entered the service of the United 
States and spent several months in camp, on the 
Delaware, watching the motions of a British fleet, 
performingall the dutiesof soldiers. Atthecloseof 
that year he was commissioned a Third Lieutenant 
of Artillery, in the Second Regiment, commanded 
by Colonel Win field Scott, who about that time- 
became a Brigadier-General. 

In the spring of 1814he marched to the frontier 
with a company of artillery commanded by Captain 
Thomas Biddle, and joined the army at Buffalo 
under General Brown, in which Scott* Ripley, and 
Porter were Brigadiers. In the battle of "Chip- 
pewa he commanded a detachment from his com- 
pany, and had a full share of that brilliant affair. 
He was in the battle of Lundy's Lane (or Bridge- 
water), at Niagara, the siege of Fort Erie, and all 
the hard lighting and severe service of that cam- 

VOL. II. — 10 

paign, and was commended afterwards officially, 
as having rendered " brave and meritorious ser- 

At the close of the war, unwilling to be inac- 
tive, Mr. Hall went to Washington and solicited a 
Midshipman's warrant in the Navy, in the hope 
of going out in Decatur's squadron against the 
Algerines, but without success. Subsequently it 
was decided to send out with that expedition a 
bomb-vessel and some mortars to be used in the 
bombardment of Algiers, under the command of 
Maj( ir Archer of the artillery ; and our author had 
the honor of being selected as one of four young 
officers who accompanied him. He sailed in Sep- 
tember, 1815, from Boston in the United States 
Brig Enterprise, commanded by Lieutenant Law- 
rence Kearney, now the veteran Commodore. 
The war with Algiers was a short one, and after 
a brief, but to him most delightful cruise in the 
Mediterranean, he returned at the clo>e of the 
same year and was stationed at Newport, Rhode 
Island, and afterwards at various other ports until 
1818, when he resigned, having previously re- 
sumed the study of law at Pittsburgh, Pennsylva- 
nia, where he was then stationed, and been ad- 
mitted to the bar. 

In the spring of 1820, having no dependence 
but his own exertions, with great ardor and hope- 
fulness of spirit, and energy of purpose, he re- 
solved to go to a new country to practise his pro- 
fession where he could rise with the growth of 
the population; but allured in fact by a romantic 
disposition, a thirst fur adventure, and a desire to 
see the rough scenes of the frontier, he went to Illi- 
nois, then recently admitted into the L T nion as a 
State, and commenced practice at Shawneetown, 
and edited a weekly newspaper, called the Illinois 
Gazette, for which he wrote a great deal. The 
next winter he was appointed Circuit Attorney, 
that is public prosecutor for a circuit containing 
ten counties. 

In a reminiscence of these journej'ings, which 
were to supply the author with that practical 
knowledge of the people of the west, and the 
scenes of genial humor which abound in Ins pages, 
he remarks — " Courts were held in these counties 
twice a year, and they were so arranged as to time 
that after passing through one circuit we went 
directly to the adjoining one, and thus proceeded 
to some twenty counties in succession. Thus wo 
were kept on horseback and travelling over a very 
wide region the greater part of our time. There 
was no other way to travel but on horseback. 
There were but few roads for carriages, and we 
travelled chiefly by bridle-paths, through unculti- 
vated wilds, fording rivers, and sometimes swim- 
mingcreeks, and occasionally campingout.' There 
were few taverns, and we ate and slept chiefly at 
the log cabins of the settlers. The office of pro- 
secuting in such a country is no. iinccv re. Several 
of the counties in my circuit were bounded by the 
Ohio river, which separated them from Kentucky, 
and afforded facilities to rogues and ruffians to 
change their jurisdictions, which allured them to 
settle among us in great gangs, such as could often 
defy the arm of the law. We had whole settle- 
ments of counterfeiters or horse thieves with their 
sympathizers, where rogues could change names, 
or pass from house to house, so skilfully as to 
elude detection, and where, if detected, the whole 



population were ready to rise to the rescue. 
There were other settlements of sturdy honest 
fellows, the regular backwoodsmen, in which 
rogues were not tolerated. There was, therefore, 
a continual struggle between these parties, the 
honest people trying to expel the others by the 
terrors of the law, and when that mode failed, 
forming regulating companies and driving them 
out by force. To be a public prosecutor among 
such a people requires much discretion and no 
small degree of courage. "Whenthe contest breaks 
out into violence, when arms are used, and a little 
civil war takes place, there are aggressions on 
both sides, and he is to avoid making himself a 
party with either; when called upon to prosecute 
either he is denounced and often threatened, and 
it required calmness, self-possession, and some- 
times courage to enable him to do his duty, pre- 
serving his self-respect and the public confidence."* 

In these cases Mr. Hall was a rigorous prosecu- 
tor, never flinching from duty, and on some occa- 
sions turning out himself and aiding in the arrest 
of notorious and bold villains. lie served in that 
office four years, and obtained also a large prac- 
tice on the civil side of the court. He was then 
elected by the legislature Judge of the Circuit 
Court, the court having general original jurisdic- 
tion, civil and criminal. He presided in that court 
three years, when a change in the judiciary system 
took place, the circuit courts were abolished, and 
all the judges repealed out of office. At the same 
session of the legislature he was elected State 
Treasurer, and removed to Vandalia, the seat of 
government. This office he held four years, in 
connexion with an extensive law practice, and in 
connexion also with the editorship of the Illinois 
Intelligencer, a weekly newspaper, and of the Il- 
linois Monthly Magazine, which he established, 
published, owned, edited, and for which he wrote 
nearly all the matter — tale, poem, history, criti- 
cism, gossip. 

In 1833 Mr. Hall removed to Cincinnati, his 
present residence, having lived in Illinois twelve 
years. He has since 1836 been engaged in finan- 
cial pursuits, having been at first the cashier of 
the Commercial Bank, and since 1 853 the presi- 
dent of another institution bearing the same name. 

The series of Mr. Hall's numerous publications 
commenced with his contributions to the Port 
Folio during the editorship of his brother, who 
took charge of that work. In 1820, when de- 
scending the Ohio, and afterwards during the 
early part of his residence in Illinois, Mr. Hall 
wrote a series of letters from the West, which 
were published in the Port Folio. They were 
written in the character of a youth travelling for 
amusement, giving the rein to a lively fancy, and 
indulging a vein of levity and rather extravagant 
fnn. They were intended to be anonymous, but 
having been carried by a friend to England, unex- 
pectedly to the author appeared from the London 
press ascribed to "the Hon. Judge Hall" on the 
title-page. The English reviews had their sport 
out of the apparent incongruity. They acknow- 
ledged a certain sort of ability about it, and con- 
fessed that the author wrote very good English ; 

* Mr. Fall has given a pleasant sketch of this time and region 
in the preface to his revised edition of the Legends of the 
"West, published by Putnam in 1853. 

but sneered at the levities, and asked the English 
public what they would think of a learned judge 
who should lay aside the wig and robe of office, 
and roam about the land in quest of " black eyes" 
and "rosy cheeks," dancing at the cabins of the 
peasantry, and "kissing the pretty girls." The 
venerable Illinois Judge they pronounced to be a 
" sly rogue," and wondered if the learned gentle- 
man was as funny on the bench, &c. &c. The 
author never allowed the book to be republished. 

Mr. Hall's subsequent literary productions may 
be classed under the heads of periodical literature, 
books written to exhibit the political and social 
character and statistics of the West, and an exten- 
sive series of works of fiction illustrating the ro- 
mance, adventure, and humor of the region. In 
1829 he edited and secured the publication of 
the Western Souvenir, in imitation of the elegant 
annuals then in vogue. Half of the matter was 
written by himself. Though the appearance of 
the work suffered from mechanical defects, its 
spirit was admitted, and as a novelty it was quite 

In October, 1830, Mr. Hall published the first 
number of the Illinois Monthly Magazine at Van- 
dalia, which was also a novelty, and judging from 
the numbers before us, quite a creditable one. In 
the worth and elegance of its matter it would not 
be out of place now in any of the leading cities of 
the country. Then it was a free-will offering of 
time, enthusiasm, and money (for the work was 
sustained by the author's purse as well as pen), to 
the cause of social improvement and refinement 
in a virgin state, the resources of which were as 
yet all to be developed. It was continued for two 
years, and served well its liberal purposes. This 
work was followed by the Western Monthly Ma- 
gazine, published at Cincinnati for three years 
from 1833 to 1835, and sustained by a large sub- 
scription. Like the former it was not only dili- 
gently edited but mostly written by Mr. Hall. 

A work of considerable magnitude, in which 
Mr. Hall soon engaged, involved vast labor and 



original research. In connexion with Col. Tho- 
mas L. M'Kenney he undertook to edit and write 
A History and Biography of the Indians of North 
America. The work, a costly one, was to be 
illustrated by a series of portraits taken at Wash- 
ington by King, who had formed a gallery in the 
War Department of the various celebrated chiefs 
who visited the capital. It was proposed by Col. 
M'Kenney, who had been Commissioner for Indian 
Affairs, to publish one hundred and twenty por- 
traits, with a memoir of each of the chieftains. 
The work appeared easy, but it was soon found 
sufficiently difficult to task the energies of Mr. 
Hall, upon whom the toil of composition fell, to 
the extent even of his accustomed diligence and 
pliant pen. The material which had been sup- 
posed to exist in official and other documents at 
hand had to be sought personally from agents of 
government, old territorial governors, and such 
original authorities as Governor Cas^, General 
Harrison, and others. With the exception of a few 
facts from the expeditions of Long, Pike, and 
Schoolcraft, nothing was compiled from books. 
The testimony of actors and eye-witnesses was 
sought and sifted, so that the work is not only full 
of new and interesting facts but of a reliable cha- 

The expensive style of this publication, a copy 
costing one hundred and twenty dollars, has con- 
fined it to the public libraries or to the collections 
of wealthy persons. From the failure of the first 
publishers, the change of others, and the expense 
of the work, Messrs. M'Kenney anil Hall, who 
were to have received half the profits, got little or 

In 1835 Mr. Hall published at Philadelphia two 
volumes of Sketches of History, Life, and Man- 
ners in the West, and subsequently at Cincinnati, 
another pair of volumes entitled The West, its 
Soil, Surface, and Productions ; Its Navigation 
and Commerce. The " Sketches" illustrate the 
social, the others the material characteristics of 
this important region. 

During the canvass between General Harrison 
and Van Buren in 1836 Mr. Hall published a life 
of the former, the materials of which lie had pre- 
pared for the Sketches of the West.* It is a po- 
lished and interesting history. 

The several volumes of Mr. Hall's tales include 
the separate publications, The Legends of the 
West ; The Border Tales ; The Soldier's Bride 
and other Tales; Harpes Head, a Legend of 
Kentucky ; The Wilderness and the War Path. 
Many of these first appeared in magazines and 
annuals. They are characterized by a certain 
amenity and ease of narrative, a poetic appre- 
ciation of the beauties of nature, and the gentler 
moods of the affections; while the author's pleas- 
ing narrative has softened the rudeness without 
abating the interest of the wild border strife. The 
Indian subjects are handled with peculiar deli- 
cacy; the kindly sentiment of the author dwelling 
on their virtues, while his imagination is enkin- 
dled by their spiritual legends. His style, pure in 
sentiment and expression, may be aptly compared 
with the calm, tranquil aspect of his own Ohio 
river, occasionaUy darkened by wild bordering 

* A Memoir of the Public Services of 'William Henry Harri- 
son of Ohio. Philadelphia. 

wood->, but oftener reflecting the beauty of the 
azure heaven. 

Several of Mr. Hall's family have engaged in 
literature. His mother, Mrs. Sarah Hull, the 
daughter of Dr. John Ewing, wrote Conversations 
on the Bible, which were republished abroad, and 
which have passed through several editions. She 
was a contributor to the Port Folio from the com- 
mencement and during the editorship of her son. 
A volume of her writings was edited and pub- 
lished by Harrison Hall in 1833, with a prefatory 
memoir by Judge Hall. She was born October 
30, 1760, and died April 3, 1830. 

John E. Hall, her eldest son, was born Decem- 
ber, 1783. He was educated at Princeton, read 
law with Judge Hopkinson, was admitted to 
practice in 1805, and removed to Baltimore. He 
published the American Law Journal in Phila- 
delphia from 1808 to 1817. He was elected Pro- 
fessor of Rhetoric and Belles Lettres in the Uni- 
versity of Maryland. He collected and arranged 
an edition of the British Spy, to which he contri- 
buted several letters much to the gratification of 
Wirt the author. When the Baltimore riot broke 
out in 1811, he was one of the party of Federalists 
who aided in defending Hanson's house, and was 
one of the nine thrown on a heap as killed. He 
left Baltimore soon afterwards, removing to Phi- 
ladelphia, where he assumed the editorship of the 
Port Folio in 1806. The memoirs of Anacreon in 
that journal were from his pen. They were a re- 
production on this thread of narrative of Grecian 
manners and customs, supposed to be written by 
Critias of Athens, and the author was stimulated 
to their composition by the approval of the poet 
Moore, who was then creating a sensation in the 
literary circles of Philadelphia. Mr. Hall was the 
author of the life prefixed to the poems of his 
friend Dr. John Shaw, published in Baltimore in 
1810. In 1827 he edited with biographical and 
critical notes, The Philadelphia Souvenir, a col- 
lection of fugitive pieces from the press of that 
city. The editor's part is written with spirit. In 
the same year was published in Philadelphia in an 
octavo volume, Memoirs of Eminent Persons, with 
Portraits and Fac-Similes, written and in part 
selected by the Editor of the Port Folio. In con- 
sequence of his declining health the Port Folio 
was discontinued in 1827. Ho died June 11, 
1829. His brother, Harrison Hall, publisher of 
the Port Folio, is the author of a work on Dis- 
tilling, first published in 1815, which has received 
the commendation of Dr. Hare and other scien- 
tific men of the day. 

Dr. Thomas Mifflin nail, a younger brother, 
contributed poetry and some scientific articles to 
the Port Folio. In 1828 he embarked on board 
of a South American ship of war to which he was 
appointed surgeon. The vessel was never heard 
of after. 

And what is solitude ? Is it the shade 

Where nameless terrors brood — ■ 
The lonely dell, or haunted ^lade, 
By gloomy phantasy arrayed \ 
This is not solitude. 

For I have dared alone to tread, 
In boyhood'a truant mood, 



Among the mansions of the dead 
By night, when others all had fled — 
Yet felt not solitude. 

And I have travelled far and wide, 

And dared by field and flood ; 
Have slept upon the mountain side, 
Or slumbered on the ocean tide, 

And known no solitude. 

O'er prairies where the wild flowers bloom, 

Or through the silent wood, 
Where weeds o'ershade the traveller's tomb, 
It oft lias been my fate to roam — 

Yet not in solitude. 

For hope was mine, and friends sincere, 

The kindred of my blood ; 
And I could think of objects dear, 
And tender images would cheer 

The gloom of solitude. 

But when the friends of youth are gone, 

And the strong tics of blood 
And sympathy, are riven one by one, 
The heart, bewildered and alone, 

Desponds in solitude. 

Though crowds may smile, and pleasures gleam, 

To chase its gloomy mood, 
To that lone heart the world doth seem, 
An idle and a frightful dream 

Of hopeless solitude. 

Do any feci for it? They have the will 

To do a seeming good : 
But strangers' kindness hath no skill 
To touch the deeply seated ill 

Of the heart's solitude. 


[Pierre, who is the ovffl of the village, and is anxious to see 
thev:onders o/thewilderness,marriesan Indian bride and 
proposes a stroll.] 

When our inclinations prompt us strongly to a 
particular line of conduct, it is easy to find reasons 
enough to turn the scale. Indeed, it is most usual 
to adopt a theory first, and then to seek out argu- 
ments to support it. Pierre could now find a host 
of reasons urging him to instant wedlock with the 
Illinois maiden. And not the least were the advan- 
tages which would accrue to Father Francis, to the 
church, and to the cause of civilization. When lie 
should become a prince, he could take the venerable 
priest under Ids patronage, encourage the spread of 
the true faith, cause his subjects to be civilized, and 
induce them to dress like Christians and feed like 
rational beings. He longed, with all the zeal of a 
reformer, to see them powder their hair, and abstain 
from the savage practice of eating roasted puppies. 

So he determined to marry the lady ; and, having 
thus definitely settled the question, thought it would 
be proper to take the advice of his spiritual guide. 
Father Francis was shocked at the bare mention of the 
affair. He admonished Pierre of the sin of marry- 
ing a heathen, and of the wickedness of breaking 
his plighted faith; and assured him, iu advance, 
that such misconduct would bring down upon him 
the severe displeasure of the church. Pierre thanked 
him with the most humble appearance of conviction, 
and forthwith proceeded to gratify his own inclina- 
tion — believing that, in the affair of wedlock, he 
knew what was for his own good quite as well as a 
holy monk, who, to the best of his judgment, could 
know very little about the matter. 

* Published in the collection, The Wilderness and the War- 

On the following morning the marriage took place, 
with no other ceremony than the delivery of the 
bride into the hands of her future husband. Pierre 
was as happy as bridegrooms usually are — for his 
companion was a slender, pretty girl, with a mild 
black eye and an agreeable countenance. They 
were conducted to a wigwam, and installed at once 
into the offices of husband and wife, and into the 
possession of their future mansion. The females of 
the village assembled, and practised a good many 
jokes at the expense of the young couple: and 
Pierre, as well to get rid of these as to improve the 
earliest opportunity of examining into the mineral 
treasures of the country, endeavored, by signs, to 
invite his partner to a stroll — intimating, at the 
same time, that he would be infinitely obliged to 
her if she would have the politeness to show him a 
gold mine or two. The girl signified her acquies- 
cence, and presently stole away through the forest, 
followed b}" the enamored hair-dresser. 

As soon as they were out of sight of the village, 
Pierre offered her his arm, but the arch girl darted 
away, laughing, and shaking her black tresses, 
which streamed in the air behind her, as she leaped 
over the logs and glided through the thickets. 
Pierre liked her none the less for this evidence of 
coquetry, but gaily pursued Ins beautiful bride, for 
whom lie began to feci the highest admiration. Her 
figure was exquisitely moulded, and the exercise in 
which she was now engaged displayed its graceful- 
ness to the greatest advantage. There was a novelty, 
too, in the adventure, which pleased the gay-hearted 
Frenchman ; and away they ran, mutually amused 
and mutually satisfied with each other. 

Pierre was an active youi g fellow, and, for a 
while, followed the beautiful savage with a credita- 
ble degree of speed ; but, unaccustomed to the ob- 
stacles which impeded the way, he soon became fa- 
tigued. His companion slackened her pace when 
she found him lingering behind; and, when the 
thicket was more than usually intricate, kindly 
guided him through the most practicable places, — 
always, however, keeping out of his reach ; and 
whenever lie mended his pace, or showed an inclina- 
tion to overtake her, she would dart away, looking 
back over her shoulder, laughing, and coquetting, 
and inviting him to follow. For a time this was 
amusing euough, and quite to the taste of the merry 
barber ; but the afternoon was hot, the perspiration 
flowed copiously, and he began to doubt the expe- 
diency of having to catch a wife, or win even a gold 
mine, by the sweat of his brow — especially iu a new 
country. Adventurers to newly discovei ed regions 
expect to get things easily ; the fruits of labor may 
be found at home. 

On they went in this manner, until Pierre, wearied 
out, was about to give up the pursuit of his light- 
heeled bride, when they reached a spot where the 
ground gradually ascended, until, all at once, they 
stood upon the edge of an elevated and extensive 
plain. Our traveller had heretofore obtained par- 
tial glimpses of the prairies, but now saw one of 
these vast plains, for the first time, in its breadth 
and grandeur. Its surface was gently uneven ; and, 
as he happened to be placed on one of the highest 
swells, he looked over a boundless expanse, where 
not a singletree intercepted the prospect, or relieved 
the monotony. He strained his vision forward, but 
the plain was boundless — marking the curved line 
of its profile on the far distant horizon. The effect 
was rendered more striking by the appearance of 
the setting sun, which had sunk to the level of the 
farthest edge of the prairie, and seemed like a globe 
of fire resting upon the ground. Pierre looked 
around him with admiration. The vast expanse— 



destitute of trees, covered with tell grass, now dried 
by the summer's heat, and extending, as it seemed 
to him, to the western verge of the continent — ex- 
cited Ids special wonder. Little versed in geogra- 
phy, he persuaded himself that he ha 1 reached the 
western boundary of the world, and beheld the very 
spot where the sun passed over the edge of the great 
terrestrial plane. There was no mistake. He had 
achieved an adventure worthy the greatest captain 
of the age. Hia form dilated, and his eye kindled, 
with a consciousness of his own importance. Co- 
lumbus had discovered a continent, but he had tra- 
velled to the extreme verge of the earth's surface, 
beyond which nothing remained to be discovered. 
" Yes," he solemnly exclaimed, " there is the end of 
the world ! How fortunate am I to have approached 
it by daylight, and with a guide ; otherwise, I might 
have stepped over in the dark, and have fallen — I 
know not where!" 

The Indian girl had seated herself on the grass, 
and was composedly waiting his pleasure, when he 
discovered large masses of smoke rolling upward in 
the west: He pointed towards this new phenome- 
non, and endeavored to obtain some explanation of 
its meaning; but the bride, if she understood his 
enquiry, had no means of reply. There is a language 
of looks which is sufficient for the purposes of love. 
The glance of approving affection beams expressively 
from the eye, and finds its way in silent eloquence 
to the heart. No doubt that the pair, whose bridal 
day we have described, had already learned, from 
each other's looks, the confession which they had no 
other common language to convey ; but the inter- 
course of signs can go no further. It is perfectly 
inadequate to the interpretation of natural pheno- 
mena: and the Indian maid was unable to explain 
that singular appearance which so puzzled her lover. 
But discovering, from the direction to winch he point- 
ed, that his curiosity was strongly excited, the oblig- 
ing girl rose and led the way towards the west. 
They walked for more than an hour. Pierre insen- 
sibly became grave and silent, and Ids sympathizing 
companion unconsciously fell into the same mood. 
He had taken her hand, which she now yielded with- 
out reluctance, and they moved slowly, side by side, 
over the plain — she with a submissive and demure 
air, and he alternately admiring his beautiful bride, 
and throwing suspicious glances at the novel scene 
around him. The sun had gone down, the breeze 
had subsided, and the stillness of death was hanging 
over the prairie. Pierre beg in to have awful sensa- 
tions. Though bold and volatile, a something like 
fear crept over him, and he would have turned back ; 
but the pride of a French gentleman, and a marquis 
in anticipation, prevented him. He felt mean — for 
no man of spirit ever becomes seriously alarmed 
without feeling a sense of degradation. There is 
something so unmanly in fear, that, although no 
bosom is entirely proof against it, we feel ashamed 
to acknowledge its influence even to ourselves. Our 
hero looked forward in terror, yet was too proud to 
turn back. Superstition was beginning to throw its 
misty visions about his fancy. He had taken a step 
contrary to the advice of his father confessor, and 
was in open rebellion against the church ; and he 
began to fear that some evil spirit, under the guise 
of an Indian maid, was seducing him away to de- 
struction. At all events, he determined not to go 
much further. 

The shades of night had begun to close, when they 
again ascended one of those elevations which swells 
so gradually that the traveller scarcely remarks 
them until he reaches the summit, and beholds, from 
a commanding eminence, a boundless landscape 
spread before him. The veil of night, w ithout con- 

cealing the scene, rendered it indistinct J theundula- 
tions of the surface were no longer perceptible; and 
the prairie seemed a perfect plain. One phenomenon 
astonished and perplexed him : before him the 
prairie was lighted up with a dim but supernatural 
brilliancy, like that of a distant fire, while behind 
was the blackness of darkness. An air of solitude 
reigned over that wild plain, and not a sound re- 
lieved the desolation of the scene. A chill crept 
over him as lie gazed around, and not. an object met 
his eye but that dark maid, wdio stood in mute pa- 
tience by his side, as waiting his pleasure; but on 
whose features, as displayed by the uncertain light 
that glimmered on them, a smile of triumph seemed 
to play. He looked again, and the horizon gleamed 
brighter and brighter, until a fiery redness rose 
above its dark outline, while heavy, slow moving 
masses of cloud curled upward above it. It was 
evidently the intense reflection, and the voluminous 
smoke, of a vast fire. In another moment the blaze 
itself appeared, first shooting up at one spot, and 
then at another, and advancing, until the whole line 
of horizon was clothed in flames, that rolled around, 
and curled, and dashed upward, like the angry 
waves of a burning ocean. The simple Frenchman 
had never heard of the fires that sweep over, our 
wide prairies in the autumn, nor did it enter into his 
head that a natural cause could produce an effect so 
terrific. The whole western horizon was clad in 
fire, and, as far as the eye could see, to the right and 
left, was one vast conflagration, having the appear- 
ance of angry billows of a fiery liquid, dashing 
against each other, and foaming, and throwing flakes 
of burning spray into the air. There was a roaring 
sound like that caused by the conflict of waves. A 
more terrific sight could scarcely be conceived ; nor 
was it singular that an unpractised eye should be- 
hold in that scene a wide sea of flame, lashed into 
fury by some internal commotion. 

Pierre could gaze no longer. A sudden horror 
thrilled his soul. His worse fears were realized in 
the tremendous landscape. He saw before him the 
lake of fire prepared for the devil and his angels. 
The existence of such a place of punishment he had 
never doubted ; but, heretofore, it had been a mere 
dogma of faith, while now it appeared before him in 
its terrible reality. He thought he could plainly 
distinguish gigantic black forms dancing in the 
flames, throwing up their long misshapen arms, and 
writhing their bodies into fantastic shapes. Utter- 
ing a piercing shriek, he turned and fled with the 
swiftness of an arrow. Fear gave new vigor to the 
muscles which had before been relaxed with fatigue, 
and his feet, so lately heavy, now touched the 
ground with the light and springy tread of the an- 
telope. Yet, to himself, his steps seemed to linger, 
as if his heels were lead. 

The Indian girl clapped her hands and laughed 
aloud as she pursued him. That laugh, which, at 
an earlier hour of this eventful day, had enlivened 
his heart by its joyous tones, now filled him with 
terror. It seemed the yell of a demon — the trium- 
phant scream of hellish delight over the downfall 
of his soul. The dark maid of Illinois, so lately an 
object of love, became, to his distempered fancy, a 
minister of vengeance — a fallen angel sent to tempt 
him to destruction. A supernatural strength and 
swiftness gave wings to his flight, as he bounded 
away with the speed of the ostrich of the desert ; 
but lie seemed, to himself, to crawl sluggishly, and, 
whenever he east a glance behind, that, mysterious 
girl of the prairie was laughing at his heels. He 
tried to invoke the saints, but, alas! in the confusion 
of his mind, he could not recollect the names of 
more than half a dozen, nor determine which was 



the most suitable one to be called upon in such an 
anomalous ease. Arrived at the forest, lie dashed 
headlong through its tangled thickets. Neither the 
darkness, nor any obstacle, checked Ins career ; but 
scrambli. g over fallen timber, tearing through copse 
and briar, he held his way, bruised and bleeding, 
through the forest. At last he reached the village, 
staggered into a lodge which happened to be unoc- 
cupied, and sunk down insensible. 

The sun was just rising above the eastern horizon 
■when Pierre awoke. The Indian maid was bending 
over him with looks of tender solicitude. She had 
nursed him through the silent watches of the night, 
had pillowed his head upon the soft plumage of the 
swan, a:.d covered him with lobes of the finest fur. 
She had watched his dreamy^ sleep through the long 
horn's, when all others were sleeping, and no eye 
witnessed her assiduous care — had bathed his throb- 
bing temples with water from the spring, and passed 
her slender ringers through his ringlets, with the 
fondness of a young and growing affection, until she 
had soothed the unconscious object of her tenderness 
into a calm repose. It was her first love, and she 
had given her heart up to its influences with all the 
strength, and all the weakness, of female passion. 
Under other circumstances it might long have re- 
mained concealed in her own bosom, and have gra- 
dually become disclosed by the attentions of her 
lover, as the flower opens slowly to the sun. But 
she had been suddenly called to the diseha- go of the 
duties of a wife; and woman, when appealed to by 
the charities of life, gives full play to her affections, 
pouring out the treasures of her love in liberal pro- 1 

But her tenderness was thrown away upon the 
slumbering biidcgroom, whose unusual excitement, 
both of body and mind, had been succeeded by a 
profound lethargy. No sooner did he open his eyes, 
than the dreadful images of the night became again 
pictured upon his imagination. Lven that anxious 
girl, who had hung over liiin with sleepless solicitude 
throughout the night, and still watched, dejected, by 
his side, seemed to wear a malignant aspect, and to 
triumph in his anguish. He shrunk from the glance 
of her eye, as if its mild lustre would have withered 
him. She laid her hand upon his brow, and he 
writhed as if a serpent had crawled over his visage. 
The hope of escape suddenly presented itself to his 
mind. He rose, and rushed wildly to the shore. 
The boats were just leaving the bank ; his compa- 
nions had been grieved at his marriage, and were 
alarmed when they found he had left the village; 
but Father Francis, a rigid moralist, and a stern man, 
determined not to wait for him a moment, and the 
little barks were already shoved into the stream, 
when the haggard barber appeared, and plunged 
into the water. As he climbed the side of the near- 
est boat, he conjured his comrades, in tones of agony, 
to fly. Imagining he had discovered some treachery 
in their new allies, they obeyed ; the oars were plied 
with vigor, and the vessels of the white strangers 
rapidly disappeared from the eyes of the astonished 
Illini, who were as much peYplexed by the abrupt 
departure, as they had been by the unexpected visit 
of their eccentric guests. 

Pierre took to his bed, and remained an invalid 
during the rest of the voyage. Nor did he set his 
foot on shore again in the new world. One glance 
at the lake of fire was enough for him, and he did 
not, like Orpheus, look back at the infernal regions 
from which he had escaped. The party descended 
the Mississippi to the gulf of Mexico, where, finding 
a sh'ip destined for France, he took leave of his com- 
panions, from whom he had carefully concealed the 
true cause of his alarm. During the passage across 

the Atlantic he recovered his health, and, in some 
measure, his spirits ; but he never regained his thirst 
for adventure, his ambition to be a marquis, or his 
desire to seek for gold. The fountain of rejuvenes- 
cence itself had no charms to allure him back to the 
dangerous wildernesses of the far west. On all these 
subjects he remained silent as the grave. One would 
have supposed that he had escaped the dominions 
of Satan under a pledge of seeresy. 


■William Leete Stone was born at Esopus, in 
New York, in 1798, and was the son of the Rev. 
WilKam Stone, a clergyman of the Presbyterian 
church. When quite young he removed to the 
western part of that state, where he assisted his 
father in the care of a farm, acquiring a fondness 
for agricultural pursuits which he always re- 

At the age of seventeen lie left home ; placed 
himself with Colonel Prentiss, the proprietor of 
the " Cooperstown Freeman's Journal, "to learn 
the printing business ; and from, this time began 
to write newspaper paragraphs. In 1813 he be- 
came the editor of the "Herkimer American." 
He next edited a political newspaper at Hudson, 
then one at Albany, and then again one at Hart- 
ford in Connecticut. He at length, in the spring 
of 1821, succeeded Mr. Zachariah Lewis in the 
editorship of the " New York Commercial Adver- 
tiser," becoming at the same time one of its pro- 
prietors. He continued in charge of this till his 
death, which took place at Saratoga Springs, Au- 
gust 15, 1844. 

Though an acknowledged political leader, Mr. 
Stone's attention, during his career as an editor, 
was very far from having been absorbed by the 
party contentions of the day. While residing at 
Hudson, besides the political journal, he edited a 
literary periodical styled the "Lounger," which 
was distinguished for sprightliness and frequent 
sallies of wit. Subsequently, he furnished a 
number of tales to the Annuals, some of which, 



with additions, he republished in 1831, under the 
title of Tale? and Sketches. Many of the charac- 
ters and incidents in these are historical, being 
founded on traditions respecting the revolutionary 
or colonial history of the United States. 

In 1832, he published his Letters on Masonry 
and Anti-Masonry ; then followed Maihias and 
his Impostures, a curious picture of an instance 
of gross but remarkable religious delusions, 
which occurred in the state of New York ; and in 
1836, a volume entitled Ups and Downs in the Lfe 
of a Gentleman, intended as a satire on the fol- 
lies of the day, although the main facts stated 
actually occurred in the life of an individual weli 
known to the author. 

It has been stated that the parents of Mr. Stonv 
during his early childhood, removed to western 
New York. This section of country was at that 
time in fact, though not in name, an Indian Mis- 
sion Station — <o that in hi 4 very boyhood their 
son became well acquainted with the Indians of 
our forests, and his kindness of manner and off- 
hand generosity won his way to their favor. To 
this it may be owing, that at an early period of 
his life he formed the purpose of gathering up 
and preserving what remained concerning the 
traits aril character of the " Red Men" of America, 
intending to connect with an ace Hint of these, 
an authentic history of the life and times of the 
prominent individuals who figured immediately 
before the Revolution, more especially of Sir 
"William Johnson. 

The amount of labor thus bestowed, and the 
success with which he found his way to dusty 
MSS. or gained knowledge of the invaluable con- 
tents of old chests and rickety trunks stowed 
away as lumber in garrets, and almost forgjtten 
by their owners, wis remarkable. Still more 
noteworthy was the happy facility with which he 
would gain access to the hearts of hoary-headed 
and tottering old men, and bring them to live 
over again their early days of trial anil hardships 
— gleaning quickly and pleasantly, desirable infor- 
mation from those who alone could communicate 
what he wished to hear. The result was an 
amount and variety of material which could 
scarcely be estimated, for he had the habit of sys- 
tematizing the retentiveness of a powerful memo- 
ry by a time-saving process entirely his own, 
and the very arrangement of his MS.S. and books 
assisted this process, so that his library served 
him a double purpose. 

In the course of these investigations he obtained 
an intimate acquaintance with the early annals 
of the country, and became a repository of facts 
in American and Revolutionary history. 

His predilections in this particular department 
were douhtless cultivated by his father, who when 
a mere boy left college hall and classics to shoul- 
der his musket, and fight the battles of his coun- 

While following out his main design, the mate- 
rials collected enabled him to give to the public 
several works on the general subject with which 
they were connected. These were the Memoirs 
of Joseph Brant, in 1838; a Memoir of Red 
Jacket, hi 18+1 ; the Life of Uncus, and the 
History of Wyoming. He had completed the 
collection and arrangement of the materials for 
his more extended work, the history of Sir Wil- 

liam Johnson, was ready to devote himself to its 
execution, and had already advanced to three hun- 
dred and fifty pages and upwards, when he was 
called to give up his earthly labor. 

When it is remembered that the investigations 
just referred to, and the volumes which resulted, 
were accomplished at the same time with the 
editorship of a leading daily paper in our com- 
mercial metropolis, and that he acted up to his 
own exalted views of the power, influence, and 
responsibility of the press, as an organ of good or 
evil, it may be safely asserted that his industry 
was untiring. 

The character of Mr. Stone could not be fully 
presented without mentioning his sympathy with 
those who were struggling in life, and how readily 
a word of kindness was written or spoken, or his 
purse opened for their assistance. The ingenuous- 
ness, transparency, and freshness of character, 
which he always retained, often shone forth with 
great beauty amid scenes and in circumstances 
little likely to elicit them. 

From his early youth Mr. Stone's motives of ac- 
tion were elevated. He was a firm, decided, and 
consistent Christian. The religious enterprises 
and benevolent associations of the day com- 
manded his earnest efforts in their behalf. The 
Colonization Society, from first to last, found in 
him a steadfast supporter. The cause of Educa- 
tion lay near bis heart, and to it he gave his ener- 
gies, and spared not even his decajdng strength. 


Is the descendant of a family identified with tne 
early border life of America. His first ancestor in 
the country, James Calcraft, for so the name was 
written then, came from England fresh from the 
campaigns of Marlborough. He settled in Albany 
County, New York ; was a land surveyor and 
schoolmaster, which latter vocation led to the 
popular change of his name. He died at the age 
ofone-hundred-and-twoin the Otter Creek region, 
in the present state of Vermont. His children 
were variously distributed in Canada, on the Sus- 
quehannah, and in the state of New York. One 
of them, John, was a soldier under the command 
of Sir William Johnson. His son Lawrence was 
in Fort Stanwix during the siege, and was the 
first volunteer to go forth to the relief of the brave 
Herkimer. He served through both wars with 
England, and died in 1840 at the age of eighty- 
four, with a high reputation for worth and inte- 
grity. His son, Henry Rowe Schoolcraft, was 
born in Albany county, 28th March, 171)3. He 
received there, in the town of Guilderland, a good 
education from the schoolmasters of the region, 
but appears mainly ^to have instructed himself, 
his tastes leading him in his youth to a know- 
ledge of poetry and languages, with which he 
connected the -tudy of mineralogy. At fifteen he 
began writing for the newspapers. His first work 
was a treatise on Vitreology, published in Utica 
in 1817, a subject to which he was led by his fa- 
ther's superintendence of the glass manufacture. 
The next year he travelled to the Mississippi and 
made a mineralogical survey of the Lead Mines of 
Missouri, of which he published a report in 1819. 
His narrative or journal of this tour, published in 
1820 in Van Wiiikle's Belles Leltres Repository 



fS1&r*J J£ ^cC^K^v -Cal^JL'. 

at New York, is marked by a vein of unaffected 
simplicity and enthusiasm which has always been 
characteristic of the author. It was republished 
in London in Sir Richard Phillips's collection of 
Voyages and Travels ; and has been lately reissued 
by the author in an enlarged form with the title, 
Scenes and Adventures in the Semi-Alpine Region 
of the Ozark Mountains of Missouri and Arkan- 
sas, lohich were first traversed by DeSoto wi.1541. 
His next tour was in 1820, under the auspices of 
Monroe's administration, accompanying General 
Cass in his survey of the copper regions, and ex- 
ploration of the Upper Mississippi. He published 
an account of this in a Narrative Journal of Tra- 
vels from Detroit to the Source of the Mississippi 
River. In 1821 he journeyed to Chicago, exa- 
mining the Wabash and Illinois Rivers, and pub- 
lished as the result liis Travels in the Central 
Portions of the Mksissinpi Valley. In 1822 he 


received the appointment of Agent for Indian Af- 
fairs on the North-west Frontiers, taking up his 
residence at Michilimackinack, where he conti- 
nued to reside for nearly twenty years, occupying 
himself diligently with studying the Indian lan- 
guages and history, and improving the condition 
of the tribes. He was a member of the Territo- 

rial Legislature from 1828 to 1832. He procured 
the incorporation of